Protected
by GilmoreGirl95
Summary: Protecting his little brother is the one rule Dean Winchester has lived by all his life. What happens when Dad is out of town, and a terrible accident puts Dean out of action? Both Sam and Dean need protected somehow, and matters are taken out of their hands... Featuring plenty of WeeChesters (Sam being 12 and Dean 16), angst and good old fashioned hurt and comfort!
1. Chapter 1

There was any number of things that Dean Winchester could protect his little brother from. From vampires to Casper the not so friendly ghost to school bullies, Dean would bend over backwards to protect Sam and make sure he was safe. If there was a job description for his role as the big brother, Dean felt sure that 'protect Sammy' would be in the first line. He didn't need Dad to remind him to do his job, though he knew it gave Dad peace of mind, especially if he had to leave them alone; protecting Sammy was part of Dean's everyday routine, as natural as brushing his teeth or eating breakfast.

'Three, four days tops,' Dad assured them, loading his shot gun as he spoke.

Dean shared a familiar, knowing look with Sam. From their wealth of experience, 'three, four days tops' never meant just four days, and if Bobby had asked their Dad for help on a hunt, it was likely to be difficult and take more time.

'We'll be fine,' Dean rolled his eyes dramatically for Sam's benefit, the latter instantly trying to stifle a laugh. He'd taken care of Sam plenty of times before and besides, Dean was sixteen; he wasn't exactly a kid anymore.

Dad regarded him sternly. 'You go to school, then come home from school, and you keep a low profile. No drawing attention to yourselves, you understand?'

'Yes, sir,' they chorused in unison, Sam again smiling at Dean's overzealous expression.

Dad narrowed his eyes. 'This isn't a joke, Dean,' he said, flatly. 'I'm trusting you to watch Sam.'

Dean instantly sobered up. 'I know you are, Dad,' he said quickly. 'I'll watch out for Sammy, you know I will. I'll make sure he gets up for school and eats his breakfast. I'll even tuck him in and read him a bedtime story if he wants,' he added, grinning wickedly at Sam.

'Alright, alright,' Dad said, holding his hands up. 'I get the picture.'

They watched as Dad packed his duffle, then felt in the pocket of his jeans. Pulling out a few crumpled bills and a handful of spare change, he instructed that it was only to be used for food, and nothing else. This warning was issued to his eldest son in particular, though Dean couldn't think why. Dad picked up the keys to the old truck Bobby had lent him a few weeks back and hoisted his duffle onto his shoulder, taking a last look back at the two of them.

'Be good, alright? That's an order, boys. And look after your brother, Dean.'

'I know, Dad. You can trust me,' Dean said, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

Dad actually smiled a little. 'I know I can, son.'

They weren't exactly a hugging, public displays of affection; a quick but firm grasp of Dean's shoulder and a ruffle of Sam's hair sufficed on this occasion. Sam just about refrained from pulling back, but Dean noticed, and grinned broadly.

'Hey, Dad, make sure you don't mess up Sammy's hair!'

Raising an eyebrow, Dad responded by giving Sam's hair an extra vigorous ruffle in retaliation. 'We're getting you a haircut, boy, the second I get back.'

Dad's truck had only just pulled out of the motel parking lot when Dean turned to Sam, his grin wide and his eyes glinting. 'So, Sammy, what will we do tonight?'

Sam frowned, his eyes automatically flicking to the kitchen table, where his school books and papers were laid out. 'It's a school night,' he said slowly. 'I've got homework, and I bet you do too.'

Dean shrugged. 'You completely underestimate me, little brother. I've already finished my homework.'

Sam raised his eyebrows so high they were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. 'You've actually done your homework? Did someone pay you to do it?'

Dean laughed. 'What can I say, Sammy? I'm a changed man.'

'It's _Sam_ and since when did you do homework?'

Dean shrugged again, sitting down heavily on his bed. 'I don't know, Sammy,' he said, apparently ignoring Sam's rejection of the hated nickname. 'It's just…I like it here, man, you know?'

Sam frowned, but kept quiet, waiting for Dean to go on. He'd never known his brother to talk like this before.

'I don't know, Sammy,' Dean repeated, his voice trailing off as he raked a hand through his hair. 'Well, as far as towns go, this place isn't the worst, and compared to some of the dives we've stayed in, this place is actually pretty decent.' He gestured round the, for once, spotlessly clean room, not a tacky ornament and questionable stain in sight.

'And the homework?' Sam prompted, correctly assuming that Dean had lost his train of thought.

'Well…the school's not that bad,' Dean mumbled under his breath, resolutely not looking Sam in the eye.

Sam was sure he had misheard his brother. 'Sorry, what? Did you just say that you liked school?' he asked gleefully.

Dean immediately blushed a deep red. 'I said it wasn't that bad,' he hastily corrected.

Sam laughed. 'Dude, coming from you, that's practically like saying you love the place.'

Dean threw his pillow at Sam in an attempt to shut up his loud laughter. 'You ever repeat that outside this room and I'll kill you.'

After a moment or two, Sam's muffled laughter finally subsided and he removed the pillow, his expression suddenly more serious. 'I really like it here too,' he said quietly.

Dean smiled, almost nervously, then spoke in a would-be offhand voice. 'You know, there's a big football game over at the high school tonight.'

'The first game of the season!' Sam cut in excitedly. 'I heard some guys talking about it today.'

'We could go watch it if you want.' Dean shrugged, as though it didn't really matter but Sam could detect an unfamiliar note of excitement in his brother's voice.

'Can we go?' he asked at once, all thoughts of homework immediately gone from his mind. 'I'll get my coat.'

Dean smiled at his brother's obvious enthusiasm. Honestly, it was a relief to see Sammy acting like a proper kid for a change. He checked his watch. 'Look, the game doesn't start for an hour. What do you say you do a half hour of homework and then we'll go?'

Sam cast an almost guilty look back at his abandoned books. 'Oh yeah,' he said sheepishly.

Dean watched in satisfaction as Sam settled himself down at the table, pencil in hand, head immediately bent over an open book. Unable to contain an almost smug smile, he leant back on the bed, arms behind his head and one leg crossed over the other. Homework and a football game? He really was an expert at this 'watching out for Sammy' business.

Sam privately agreed. Chewing the end of his pencil, he couldn't exactly say that he loved algebra homework, but he loved _this._ It wasn't very often they got to pretend they were normal kids, and he made the most of the opportunity whenever it presented itself. It was a relief to forget about the salt lines at every window and door, and the arsenal in the Impala's trunk, and the obviously dangerous hunt that Dad had gone on. He often thought he liked things a lot better when Dad was gone, and it was just the two of them. Not that he'd ever admit it, he could only imagine Dad's reaction if he did, but he much preferred when it was just Dean looking after him. He felt safer, more protected somehow, under Dean's watchful eye than Dad's. His loved his Dad, of course he did, you had to love your family, didn't you? Even still, he couldn't help but wish that Dad could be like this, could be like a normal dad, at least some of the time. Sam couldn't remember the last time Dad had supervised him doing his homework, and he knew for certain that dad had never taken him to a football game.

As he scribbled down the answer to a particularly difficult problem, he decided, with a fierce rush of pride, that it didn't matter. He had Dean to look after him and protect him, and that was all that mattered. He suddenly found himself wishing that dad would be gone on this hunt for weeks and weeks, and he could stay here, safe and protected, with Dean.

True to Dean's word, exactly thirty minutes later, Sam had shut his textbook and they'd slid into the front seat of the Impala, both doors shutting in unison, which made Dean smile. He loved it when that happened.

'Hey, baby,' he murmured, patting the dashboard lovingly as the engine burst into life with its usual, distinctive sound. 'Miss me?'

'Should I give you two some time alone?' Sam smirked.

'You just don't get it,' Dean replied as they backed out of the motel parking lot.

As they passed through the little town, the sights of which Sam was still getting used to, a sudden thought occurred to him and he couldn't help but voice it. 'Dad did tell us just to go straight to school, and then back again, didn't he?'

'I knew you'd worry about that,' Dean grinned.

'It's not like you not to listen to Dad,' Sam pointed out.

'I'm not. Technically,' Dean placed great emphasis on the word, '_technically, _we are going to school, well my school at least. Aren't we?'

'True,' Sam mused, beginning to smile.

'And afterwards, we'll go back to the motel again, won't we?'

Sam grinned, but it instantly slipped once again. 'But this isn't keeping a low profile like Dad said, is it?'

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Sammy, we're just going to a school football game. Chill, alright? It's the first game of the season, we're new students in need of some school spirit; it would probably look more suspicious if we didn't go.'

Sam couldn't think of an argument, but then again, he wasn't trying that hard. He didn't want to find fault or poke holes. He just wanted to enjoy a regular evening with his big brother, and that was exactly what he intended to do. For a while, neither of them spoke, and all was silent but for the low rumble of the engine. It was a comfortable sort of silence thought, not like the prickly kind that so often enveloped the evenings when Dad was around and in a bad mood.

'I've never been to a football game before,' Sam commented lightly, sometime later. 'At least, I don't think I have.'

'You haven't,' Dean said, and though his eyes were still firmly fixed on the road ahead, he smiled sadly. 'Neither have I.'

'Never?'

'Never,' Dean shrugged. 'I've never seen the point of it. Never stayed anywhere to really get involved, have we?'

'I guess not. Hey, does this mean you think we'll be staying here longer this time? Maybe even for good?' Sam's voice was suddenly painfully excited.

Dean glanced sideways at his brother, a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. How could he look at Sam, with his wide eyes and his face flushed with excitement, and tell him the truth? How he could he tell Sammy that, of course they'd never stay here for good, that the fact they liked the place meant absolutely nothing? Sam was still young enough and naïve enough to believe that the impossible could happen if you only worked and hoped hard enough. The harsh truth of reality was just another thing that Dean had to try and protect him from.

'Maybe,' he said at last, hoping his voice sounded off hand and casual.

Sam beamed, and Dean instantly felt guilt twisting at his insides. This was only going to make it more difficult when Dad insisted they leave this place and move on. But for now, though, Sam seemed happier and more contented than Dean had seen him for a long time, and that was the important thing.

'Great! You know, if we do stay here, Dean, you should try out for the football team!'

Dean actually had to pull the car over, he was laughing so hard. 'Me?' he spluttered. 'Try out for the football team?'

Sam felt a little stung by his brother's reaction. 'It was just a suggestion,' he muttered. 'I take it that's a no?'

Dean struggled to keep a straight face as he started the car up again. 'Oh, it's definitely a no,' he confirmed. 'Firstly, football practice would require me to stay behind after school. I can tolerate this school but that's taking it too far. Secondly, I do not, under any circumstances, wear shorts or those dumb uniforms. And finally, the only good thing about being on the football team would be the dating opportunities with the cheerleaders.' He paused for a moment, grinning wryly. 'And I've already got a date lined up with the head cheerleader next weekend, so what would be the point?' His eyes widening at the sound of Sam's laughter, Dean continued, 'Sammy, the only thing more ridiculous than me trying out for the football team, would be _you_ trying out, if they could even find a uniform small enough to fit you.'

Sam frowned. 'I'm not that small,' he huffed.

'Dude, they could pick you up and use you as the ball.'

Sam sighed loudly. This whole 'Sammy is so small' routine was getting old. 'It's just because I haven't had a growth spurt,' he pointed out for what felt like the hundredth time.

'I know, dude, and when that happens, I'm sure you'll tower over us all. But until then, we'll just watch the game, ok?'

'I might end up being taller than you, you know,' Sam argued.

'Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid.'

Sam might have huffed and folded his arms and sighed so vigorously that he ruffled his bangs, but he couldn't contain his smile and Dean knew he was enjoying himself really. The kid's smile was contagious and Dean soon found himself grinning too, proud in the knowledge that he had protected Sammy from an evening of silence and boredom and had instead treated him to a slice of normal life for a change.

There were so many things that Dean could protect Sam from; vampires and silence, werewolves and boredom, and he had never failed in his unwavering duty. A drunk driver speeding along on the wrong side of the road, however, was something else entirely. But Dean, sure as hell, wasn't going to go down without a fight.

The speeding car seemed to appear out of nowhere. One second they were comfortably cruising along, having a light hearted argument about what to eat for dinner after the game, and the next, a car was headed directly towards them. A split second was all the timing they had, and in that instant, time seemed to grind to a halt. By the time Sam had yelled out his brother's name, his voice high and panic stricken, Dean had decided that the best course of action, the _only_ course of action, was to pull the Impala sharply to the right, away from the speeding car. The oncoming car was certainly showing no signs of slowing or stopping, so Dean gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. He wasn't sure if he still believed in God but he found the prayers that Mom used to say when he was a kid suddenly rolling around in his head. If ever he needed divine intervention it was right now.

'It's gonna be ok, Sammy!' he yelled, hoping his brother could hear him. Instinctively, he flung out his right arm in front of Sam, holding him back in one last ditch attempt to protect him. With his free hand he clutched the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckled went white, and sharply turned it, the car instantly veering off to the right, towards the trees that lined the edge of the road. In this case, hitting a tree was definitely the lesser of two evils. Hearing nothing but Sam's loud yells, Dean braced himself for the inevitable crash into the tree, his arm still locked in place in front of Sam, determined to try and keep him safe.

Maybe he hadn't acted quickly enough, or the Impala wasn't all she used to be, or the stupid drunk driver was just going too damn fast. All Dean knew was that the crash into the tree never came. The Impala was turned towards the trees when the impact came; the other slamming into their driver's side with remarkable force. Sam had long since closed his eyes, but he could still feel Dean's arm across his chest, even as the collision came and the sounds of breaking glass and squealing brakes and his brother's yells pierced the air. Sam wanted to call out to Dean, to make sure that he was, but then they were spinning, spinning wildly out of control like some terrible fairground ride gone horribly wrong. Sam felt ill, he suddenly felt the need to be violently sick, and he wanted Dean to make it stop, make it better like he always did. He felt himself being flung forwards, and he hit his arm hard, but still he was kept in place by Dean's restraining arm.

Dean didn't know which way was right and which was left. They'd been spun round over and over again, and he had the vague idea that they'd ended up on the other side of the road, right in the path of incoming traffic. He knew he had to get them out of the way, but his body suddenly felt like it had been set alight; every part of him ached and throbbed with an intensity he didn't think was possible. He was dimly aware of something warm and sticky trickling down his forehead – blood? When had he hit his head? Even as he tried to get a grip on the steering wheel once again, he had a sudden thought that it would be great, right at that exact moment, to hit the hay and go for a good long sleep.

As something came from behind and collided sharply with the back of the Impala, Dean's unbearably heavy eyelids slid shut, his head slumping, deaf to Sam's screams of shock and pain. Even as he was thrown forward, his arm stayed behind, the bones snapping as, even unconscious, he tried to protect Sammy. It was his job after all, his default setting, and he wasn't about to let a damn car crash stop that. Not if he could help it.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam hadn't the faintest idea where he was or just what the hell was going on. All he knew was that he felt incredibly tired and his whole body sort of ached as though a not so friendly ghost had just gone ten rounds with him. His eyes still screwed tight shut, he tried to work out what had happened and where he was, because he was quite sure he didn't recognise the bed he was lying on. Then again, it might not even be a bed. Come to think of it, he couldn't actually remember going to bed. Had he been knocked out then? He guessed he must have. Damn.

The only logical explanation he could think of for getting himself knocked out cold was that he'd been on a hunt and someone, or something, had got the better of him. But no, that wasn't right. Unless he'd taken a blow to the head and was now experiencing memory loss as a result, Sam couldn't remember going out hunting. But Dad was, he suddenly remembered Dad saying goodbye to them back at the motel. Yes, that was right. Dad was hunting, but they weren't. So what had happened? The details of the evening were flooding back to him now. Homework. The promise of a football game. Impala. Swerving and spinning out of control. He remembered Dean's arm flung out in front of him even as the car was careering wildly out of control and his brother tried to keep a desperate grip on the steering wheel.

The last thing he could remember before it all got too dark and confusing was the sound of his big brother yelling and crying out in pain. Fear instantly flooded Sam's insides making him feel sick. Any injuries he'd picked up paled into insignificance. Sam had never heard his brother sound so panicked or hurt before and it terrified him. His eyes still may have been closed but he could tell that Dean wasn't with him, which was worrying in itself. Dean may have joked back at the motel about tucking him in and reading him a story, but Sam knew, deep down, his brother probably wouldn't mind doing either of those things really. If Dean knew that Sam had been knocked out and possibly injured then he'd be right here beside him, either dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth or yelling at him to wake the hell up. The silence was worrying and Sam was scared to open his eyes, frightened of what he might find, but he knew he had to do it.

His eyes flew open, and the bright lights of wherever he was instantly stung. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust, and his surroundings swam into view. He was lying in the back of an ambulance? Crap. It must be bad then.

A kind faced woman Sam guessed to be a paramedic if her uniform was anything to go by, noticed that he was awake and came hurrying to his side. Her voice was as kind and concerned as her motherly face, but Sam wasn't listening, wasn't paying attention to the cool hand she laid on his shoulder. His eyes darted round the back of the ambulance; it was empty apart from him and the paramedic, though they weren't moving and the doors were still open.

'Where's my brother?' he asked, completely cutting her off and barely recognising the dry, cracked voice as his own.

'The other boy in the car is your brother?'

Sam nodded his head, ignoring the dull throb. 'Where is he?' he asked, more forcefully this time.

'Sweetheart, you need to lie still for me, ok? We're going to get you to the hospital and you're going to get all fixed up, don't worry.'

Sam ignored her. 'I need to see my brother,' he said firmly, his voice betraying him by shaking a little.

'Sweetheart, I need you to tell me your name and your mom and dad's details. We need to get in contact with them and then they can meet us at the hospital.' The paramedic's voice remained gentle, but there was a certain firmness to it that made Sam recoil a little.

'My name's Sam,' he said quickly, 'Sam Winchester.'

She smiled encouragingly. 'Good boy, Sam. Now, can you give me a contact number for your mom or dad?'

'Can I see my brother first?'

'I need contact numbers, Sam. You need your mom and dad right now.'

Sam wanted to scream that he didn't have a mom to need, and he didn't need Dad. He just needed Dean. 'My mom's dead,' he said flatly, 'and my dad's working out of town.'

'Oh,' she said, a little uncomfortably. 'I'm sorry. You must have a number for your dad though, a cell phone number or the number of his company maybe?'

Sam rhymed off his dad's cell number, though he truthfully explained that Dad couldn't answer it if he was working.

'I see.' The paramedic didn't sound hopeful and did nothing to abate the fear washing over him.

'I need to see my brother,' Sam said again, starting to sit up. 'Please,' he added hastily.

'Sam, honey, what you need to do is lie down and get some rest. You've been through a terrible ordeal tonight and you're in shock. I bet you ache all over, right?'

She was right, of course she was, but Sam wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. Anyway, he didn't even care that his head was throbbing and there was a sharp pain in his wrist that felt like it had been broken. She seemed to take his silence as an indication that he was going to be a good boy and do what he was told. She was sorely mistaken then.

The paramedic turned her back on him, murmuring something he didn't listen to, and Sam had his mind made up in an instant. As quiet as was humanly possible in this situation, Sam sat up, immediately clamping his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. If this woman wasn't going to take him to find Dean, then he'd have to find someone who could, or better still, find Dean himself. He convinced himself that Dean would be busy looking for him too. The alternative, that Dean was in no fit state to do so, was too terrible to contemplate.

Hoping he hadn't injured his legs, Sam gradually eased himself off the stretcher, giving a miniscule sigh of relief when his sneakers touched the ground and nothing untoward happened. His relief was quickly dispelled at the sharp pain shooting up his right arm. Yep, definitely broken or badly sprained at the least. Dad could probably have bandaged it up for him, but Dad wasn't here and he needed to get to Dean.

Silencing a gasp of pain by biting down hard on his bottom lip, Sam stood up, his good hand tightly gripping the edge of the stretcher as he inched towards the open doors. Though they weren't badly injured, his legs were trembling like mad and he felt dizzy and light headed. Taking a quick look back over his shoulder to make sure the paramedic hadn't realised he was gone, he let go of the stretcher and slid out the open doors of the ambulance.

His daring escape didn't go as smoothly as he hoped. His shaky legs didn't seem to want to support his weight and he went crashing to the ground. He instantly felt a sharp sting and warm blood trickling from his knees after their contact with the ground. He scrambled to his feet again as quickly as he'd fallen, hearing the paramedic call his name. Grazed knees meant nothing to a twelve year old on a mission.

Sam stumbled onwards, the familiar yet horrible sight of the Impala quickly coming into view, and his breath caught in his chest. The car, which had ended up on the other side of the road facing the wrong way, was a wreck. The driver side had been completely crushed in, the window smashed and the back of the car looked like something had slammed into it as well. It was like the picture they showed on the news of the very worst kind of car accident, the kind you never believed could happen to you, the kind where the grim newsreader would say 'no survivors.' But Sam had survived, he was almost perfectly fine, and yet he still hadn't found Dean.

The idea of one Winchester brother without the other was frankly ridiculous and Sam was yelling Dean's name as loudly as he could, because finding his brother was all that mattered. He didn't care that the paramedic had caught up with him and was threatening to sedate him if he didn't calm down. He drew in another deep breath, but his brother's name got caught in his throat and the shout never left him. At that moment, a small team of paramedics went rushing past, towards another ambulance Sam hadn't even noticed yet. These new paramedics didn't seem to notice him, so intent were they on the task at hand. Unable to breath, blink or even think straight, Sam's eyes dropped downwards to the stretcher they were rushing towards the ambulance.

He was sure the sight that greeted him would be permanently burned into his retinas and would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Sam could just about make out Dean's face beneath the blood, the shockingly scarlet blood, more blood than he'd ever seen at once. His brother's body was broken, looking impossibly small, one arm dangling limply and hanging at a strange angle. He had never been so desperate for his brother to open his eyes; Sam felt he would have given everything he owned for Dean to sit up and tell him that everything was going to be ok. But Dean stayed silent; not even a gasp or scream of pain escaped his lips and it was the voices of the paramedics that accosted Sam instead.

They were barking orders to each other, yelling out things like 'unresponsive' but that was stupid, of course Dean was responsive, they just weren't trying hard enough. If they told him that his beloved Impala had been wrecked then he was sure to jump up looking for the son of a bitch that had crashed into them. If only Sam could speak to him, tell him that he was hurt and scared and in huge need of his big brother, then Dean would surely come and protect him in an instant.

But now, cold hands were holding Sam back even though he needed to be with his brother. He could hear frantic shouts of 'He's not breathing!' just as the ambulances doors slammed and the wails of a siren filled the air. That was stupid too, because the only people who didn't breathe were dead people, and Dean couldn't be dead, he just couldn't. Dean was the liveliest person he knew, more so than Sam himself who could silently pore over a book for hours, or Dad who could drive across a state without speaking. But not Dean, Dean was always cracking jokes or hitting on girls or singing along to those dumb old cassette tapes he and Dad loved. The idea that Dean could be _dead_ and not doing these things, not watching out for Sam, was just impossible.

Sam was well aware that twelve year old boys weren't supposed to cry, Dad had told him often enough, but he couldn't stop the tears welling up in his eyes and splashing down his cheeks. People were crowding round him now, speaking words he couldn't hear and trying to lead him somewhere he didn't know. It came as a relief when a roaring sound filled his ears and his knees buckled and the ground rushed up to meet him. Maybe this was all a dream, a particularly vivid and horrible nightmare. Maybe he'd just dozed off in the car and he'd wake up to find that they'd arrived at school and Dean would lead him to the football game, away from this strange nightmare where the Impala was wrecked and Dean was possibly dead and Sam was all alone.

Maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

'_It's gonna be ok, Sammy.'_

Sam had come to the sad conclusion that, for probably the first time ever, his big brother had lied to him. Dean had told him a huge, bare faced lie because there was nothing, absolutely nothing about this that was 'ok.' He opened his eyes, blinking furiously as though this would somehow change his surroundings and his situation. Until very recently, there was still the tiniest shred of childish hope inside him that believed this could all be a dream. That part of him had been forced to grow up very quickly tonight. As much as he wanted to believe that he'd wake up safe and protected in the Impala with a perfectly healthy Dean, the sad truth of the matter was that he was lying, all alone, in an unfamiliar hospital. He didn't know where Dean was and he wanted, more than anything, for his brother to come into the room and truthfully tell him that everything was going to be ok.

Out of nowhere, there came a sharp knock on the door of the little room; it sounded like a gunshot in the silence of Sam's solitude. He didn't let himself believe, for more than an instant, that it could be Dean. Dean wasn't much of a one for politely knocking and waiting for a response, preferring simply to barge in with a cheerful 'It's nothing I haven't seen before, Sammy!'

Sure enough, the middle aged man with the thinning hair and the white coat who put his head round the door was definitely not Dean. He wore that generic, sympathetic smile that all doctors seemed to share and Sam felt his stomach tighten. This couldn't be good. In his mind, doctors were never the bringers of good news and he dreaded what this particular doc had to say to him.

'Hello, Sam, isn't it?'

Sam nodded not really trusting himself to speak. The doctor sounded friendly enough, but Sam knew, with a sickening certainty, that the doctor wasn't here to be his friend.

'Hi, Sam, I'm Dr Roberts-'

'How's my brother?' Sam asked quickly; exchanging names and pleasantries was hardly the most important thing right now.

Dr Roberts sighed wearily and sat down on the edge of Sam's bed, removing his glasses as he did so. Fear and panic instantly rose up inside Sam.

'No,' Sam said quietly, barely able to get the word out. 'No, he's – he's not…' He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. To say the word aloud would make it all too real.

'Your brother's alive,' Dr Roberts said hastily, correctly sensing his young patient's panic.

'Thank God,' Sam breathed out loudly in relief, reaching his good hand up to dab away the sudden wetness in his eyes. 'So he's going to be ok?'

'Actually, that's what I needed to talk to you about.'

Sam was confused. 'Do you need me to, I don't know, give him blood or something? 'Cause I will, I don't mind.' He thrust his uninjured arm towards the doctor, demonstrating his willingness to help.

'That's, uh, very generous of you, Sam, but I don't need your blood. I need you to tell me where your father is and how we can get in touch with him.'

Sam scowled. He'd rather give blood than have to go through all this again. 'I already told the paramedic in the ambulance and the nurse in the emergency room. My Dad's working out of town.'

'We can't seem to reach him.'

'I gave the nurse his cell phone number.' In truth, he'd been a little reluctant to share Dad's number. It was strictly reserved for emergencies, but if this wasn't an emergency then what was?

'We've tried phoning him, Sam, and he hasn't answered yet.'

'I told you, he's working,' That, at least, was the truth. By now, Dad would have met up with Bobby and they were probably in hot pursuit of whatever Bobby needed help hunting.

'Sam, it's urgent that we get in touch with your father.'

'He'll be back in a few days.' The truth had risen automatically to Sam's lips, he had spoken it aloud before he could stop himself, before it occurred to him that a doctor wasn't the best person to share that information with. It was the truth, sure, but Dad had specifically told them to keep a low profile and not to draw attention to themselves while he was away. Alerting a doctor to the fact that Dad had left them alone, wouldn't be back for a few days and hadn't answered his phone was not a good move.

'It's a business trip,' he said quickly.

'I see,' Dr Roberts said shortly, his eyes narrowing slightly which was enough to tell Sam that he hadn't said it quickly enough. 'Well, like I said, we need to get in touch with him as soon as we can. We can't do anything without his consent.'

Sam frowned, trying to understand what the doctor had said. 'What do you mean you can't do anything?'

'Exactly that, Sam. I'm afraid that without parental consent, there's not very much we can do for your brother.'

'You mean, you've just left him lying there?' Sam was aghast, immediately jumping up as though preparing to go and operate on Dean himself. 'No, you can't do that! He was covered in blood and they said he wasn't breathing – you can't just leave him!'

Dr Roberts held up a hand to silence Sam's protestations. 'I know. Believe me; I don't like it any more than you do.'

'Then go and help him!' Sam burst out.

'I wish I could, Sam, I really wish I could, but you have to understand that I can't. It's hospital policy; we can't operate on a minor without having consent from their parent or guardian, nor can we administer any strong pain relief or medication.'

Sam's mind was racing, unable to process what Dr Roberts was saying. This just didn't seem possible; Dean had been in a car crash and yet the doctors weren't doing anything? 'You can't just leave me,' Sam repeated, and now there was a pleading tone to his voice. 'He needs help and pain relief. You have to help him. Please.'

Dr Roberts looked genuinely sympathetic. 'I want to help him, Sam, I really do. We've stabilised him as bets as we can for now, and even that is more than we're able to do, strictly speaking. Your brother needs surgery though, Sam, and he needs it urgently.' The doctor's voice became slightly stern. 'Without consent from your father, I'm afraid our hands are tied.'

'But Dad would obviously want Dean to get whatever help he needed.' To Sam this seemed perfectly clear. 'Of course he would. Why wouldn't he give his permission?'

'That's what I'm trying to figure out, Sam.' Dr Roberts paused, casting his eye over the notes on his clipboard. 'I've had a look through you and Dean's records, and to be honest, I haven't been able to find a lot.'

Sam gulped. This definitely didn't sound good.

Dr Roberts continued, seemingly unaware of Sam's discomfort. 'I can't find any medical insurance on file, you haven't been registered with any of the local doctors-'

'We only just moved here,' Sam cut in quickly.

'Your father should have already signed the documents to allow you and Dean medical treatment in case of an emergency.'

'So how come I was able to get checked over and fixed up?' Sam asked, indicating his newly bandaged wrist. It hadn't been broken after all, just sprained, and all the rest was just minor cuts and bruises. He hadn't even needed stitches.

'You were lucky. Your injuries were minor enough that by the time we'd realised the situation, you'd already been treated.'

'Well, can't you pretend that you still don't know and fix Dean up?'

Dr Roberts didn't even bother answering that. He surveyed Sam in silence for a moment, Sam shifting uncomfortably under the doctor's intense gaze. 'So you see how important it is that we reach your father, don't you, Sam?'

'Yeah, of course,' Sam nodded. He was only a kid but he wasn't stupid.

'And you do want us to reach your father, don't you?'

'Yeah, of course,' Sam repeated, annoyed that they seemed to be going round in circles. He want sure if Dr Roberts was doing it for his benefit or not, but it was getting on his last nerve either way. He just about refrained from rolling his eyes.

'It's just that we've been trying to get a hold of him for over an hour now-'

'Yeah, I know!' Sam snapped, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. 'I already told you, he's working so he can't come to the phone!'

'Even though we've left him numerous messages explaining the seriousness of the situation?' Dr Roberts broke off, sighing heavily. 'Does your dad usually work at 10pm, Sam?' he asked, a deliberate gentleness to his voice as he checked his watch.

Truthfully, yes; hunters worked best under the cover of darkness but he couldn't explain this to Dr Roberts, could he? 'Sometimes,' he mumbled.

'What is it, exactly, that your dad does?'

Sam wasn't this interrogation one little bit. With every question, it was becoming harder and harder to stick to Dad's rules of keeping a low profile and not drawing attention to himself. He didn't really like lying but it was necessary; his abilities of thinking on his feet were being sorely tested tonight.

'He's a salesman,' he said at last. He was aware of just how lame a response it was but Dr Roberts definitely wouldn't believe the real answer.

Thankfully, Dr Roberts didn't seem to pursue it any further, but watched Sam carefully, frowning slightly. Sam was just trying to think of what his 'salesman' father was supposed to sell in case he was asked when Dr Roberts finally spoke.

'Sam,' there was a hesitancy to his voice now that instantly put Sam on edge. 'Sam, is there any reason that you wouldn't want your father to come here?'

Sam frowned. 'No,' he said sharply. 'Why?' He definitely didn't like the sound of that.

'Well, it's just that when we were examining Dean-'

'And you refused to treat him,' Sam muttered under his breath.

Dr Roberts carried on as though Sam hadn't spoken. 'When we were examining Dean, I couldn't help but notice the nature of some of his injuries-'

'He'd just been in a car crash!' Sam scoffed.

'Previous injuries, I mean; broken ribs that hadn't fully healed, numerous scars-'

'Yeah, well, Dean's really clumsy,' Sam cut in quickly. 'He's always falling and stuff and, uh, he plays sports too.' Of all the lies he'd told that evening, these two were definitely the most farfetched.

'Sam, listen to me, this is very important. You're safe here, ok? We're here to help.'

'As long as my dad says you can,' Sam couldn't help but say.

Dr Roberts looked like he dearly would have liked to tell Sam to shut the hell up, but to give him his credit, he fought the temptation. Sam knew he was acting like a little brat, but he didn't care. Under the circumstances, he was actually being remarkably calm. If he and Dean's positions had been reversed, then he knew his brother would have trashed the ER and possibly threatened Dr Roberts and several nurses if Sam wasn't getting the treatment he needed.

'Does your Dad take care of you, Sam?'

The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Sam automatically went to say 'yes' but something stopped him before he could say it aloud. Did Dad take care of him? Sure he was in charge of him, did that count? Even at twelve years old, Sam was old enough to realise that normal dads wouldn't leave their sons alone quite as much as Dad did. But of course Dad looked after him, that was his job, right? _No_, the sullen little voice in the back of his head answered, _that's Dean's job._

Dr Roberts had obviously noticed his hesitancy. 'I bet your Dad leaves you two alone a lot, huh?' His smile was genuinely sympathetic now, making Sam feel, if possible, even worse.

'Not a lot,' Sam mumbled, unable to meet the doctor's eye.

'It's ok, Sam. You can tell me. You're not in any trouble.'

Sam, however, knew that he was in trouble, probably the most serious trouble he'd ever been in. He suddenly found himself filled with a selfish wish that he could swap places with Dean. He wished that he'd been the one badly injured instead, wished that he could be unconscious and oblivious and that he didn't have to deal with all this. He immediately felt guilty, and then remembered just how much blood had covered Dean's face and the fact that Dr Roberts had said they couldn't give him any strong pain relief.

'What happens if you can't get in touch with my dad?' Sam asked quietly, his eyes cast downward. 'I don't think…Dean can't…it needs to be soon, right?'

'I don't think Dean could last until this time tomorrow if he doesn't get the surgery.' Dr Roberts got directly to the point, and Sam was taken aback by his directness.

'And if Dad doesn't…' Sam trailed off, letting the unfinished sentence hang in mid-air between them.

'Then we'll have to take alternative action,' he said simply.

'Can't you just do that now?' Sam asked, desperate to find the loophole that might just save his brother's life.

'We're going to keep trying your father, alright? I've got people downstairs trying right now. It would mean bending a whole lot of rules, but I'll gladly settle for his permission down the phone at this stage. If not-'

'Yes?' Sam prompted, more than a little afraid of what he was going to hear.

'If not, then I'm afraid the only way we'll be able to treat your brother is if he's made a ward of the state. Then the state will give permission for him to be taken into surgery.'

'Ward of the state?' Sam frowned. He'd never heard the phrase before, but there was something distinctly foreboding and ominous about it, and he didn't like it one bit. 'What does that mean?'

'It means that both of you can be properly taken care of,' Dr Roberts said simply.

'What does that mean?' Sam repeated, panic now clearly audible in his voice.

Dr Roberts sighed. Normally he wouldn't be going through all these fine points with a minor, much less a minor who'd been through such an ordeal as this kid had, but this situation was as far from normal as he could imagine. 'It means that, on the grounds of child neglect, and possibly abuse,' he added, thinking back on the older boy's injuries, 'your father's parental rights will be revoked, and you and Dean will be placed in the custody of the state.'

Sam stared at the doctor in silence, his mouth working furiously as he tried to form words. 'No,' he said at last, and he wasn't surprised to find that he was shouting. 'No! You can't do that!' He saw Dr Roberts glancing nervously at him, quietly telling him to calm down, but he wasn't listening, and he didn't care.

'I just want what's best for you and your brother,' Dr Roberts said kindly.

'No you don't! You're trying to take us away from our dad!'

'It's for your own good, Sam.' There was a definite firmness to his voice now. 'I don't suppose there's anyone else we could call?' he asked hopefully. 'Grandparents? Aunts and uncles maybe?'

Sam shook his head sullenly, not trusting himself to speak. Both his Winchester and his Campbell grandparents had died before he was even born, Dad's dad had left him when he was a kid, and he had no aunts or uncles that he knew of. The only person even remotely like a relative he could think of was Bobby, but that was no use either. Bobby and Dad were hunting together and if Dad couldn't answer the phone, then Bobby couldn't either. Besides, and Sam cringed at his own stupidity, he didn't even know Bobby's number off by heart. Dead did, of course, and that had always been enough. Both boys had always just assumed that Dean would always be able to protect Sam. A situation where this wasn't the case had always seemed impossible. He supposed there had to be a way of contacting Bobby's salvage yard, but that was pointless because Bobby wasn't even at home.

'I didn't think so,' Dr Roberts sighed.

'So what happens now?'

'Well, I'm going to check on your brother and then try your father again.'

'Can I see Dean?'

'No, Sam, I don't think that would be good for either of you.' The response was calm but firm and Sam knew better than to argue back. 'You are going to get some sleep, Sam, and then we can review the situation in the morning.'

Dr Roberts showed Sam the call button in case he needed anything and then bade him goodnight, patting him on the head like he was a little kid. He'd only just left the room when Sam sat bolt upright. He was not about to lie down and go for a nap while other people tried to make important decisions for his family. He briefly debated going in search of Dean, but he dismissed the thought almost at once. He was bound to get caught if he went stumbling all over the hospital. He sure as hell had to do something though.

Just like he'd done in the back of the ambulance what felt like hours and hours before, he carefully eased himself up into a sitting position and slid off the bed, grateful that his legs were a lot steadier than earlier. He then felt in the pocket of his jeans, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of a handful of coins. Sam had spotted the payphone when they'd wheeled him in earlier and was thankful that it wasn't too far away from his room. Small miracles. Reaching the door, he carefully scanned the corridor to make sure Dr Roberts was definitely gone before walking to the phone as fast as his tired legs could carry him.

He quickly slid the coins into the slot, sure that some nurse was going to spot him and order him back to bed, even though he was just trying to help. Just like Dr Roberts and all his cronies, he punched in his dad's cell phone number, then waited, tightly clutching the plastic receiver in his good hand.

'Come on, Dad,' he whispered frantically under his breath, his heart hammering painfully in anticipation. 'Pick up, Dad, come on. Pick up!'

He heard Dad's voice, possibly the greatest sound in the world right now, and had begun speaking frantically before realising that he'd only made it as far as his dad's voicemail.

'_You've reached John Winchester. If it's important, leave a message.'_

Direct and to the point, much like the man himself. Well, this was definitely important, so Sam left a message to join those of Dr Roberts and anyone else who'd tried to contact John Winchester that night.

'Hey, Dad. It's Sam. Uh…you probably won't even get this, but, uh…it's Dean. There was a car accident and he's hurt really bad and, uh…the doctors say there's nothing they can do without your permission. If they don't hear from you by tomorrow, they said they're gonna make us, uh, wards of the state. Please hurry, Dad, we really need you.'

For the first time all evening, Sam finally gave into the tears that had been pricking his eyes for hours. He made no attempt to wipe them away as he hung up the phone and trudged back to bed, not even caring as the tears stung the cut on his cheek. He climbed into bed, pulling the thin sheets up around him, closing his eyes as he waited in vain for a dreamless sleep. Instead, he remembered back at the motel what could have been years rather than just mere hours ago. He remembered wishing that Dad could be gone for weeks and weeks. He suddenly had the horrible feeling that, for once, his wish might just come true.


	4. Chapter 4

All in all, it hadn't been one of Sam's better mornings. He'd been woken up with breakfast on a tray by a nurse which, admittedly, had been nice, but it had all gone downhill from there. He'd just been tucking into the bowl of oatmeal, it was actually pretty good for hospital food and he was starving after the events of last night, when Dr Roberts had sidled into the room. Sam knew from the look on the doctor's face that something bad must have happened during the night. He pushed the half eaten breakfast away, his stomach churning, feeling sick with apprehension as he waited to hear the latest update.

'What's happened?' he demanded. 'Did Dad phone? Did you treat Dean? How-'

'Your father didn't answer his phone, Sam,' Dr Roberts said quietly, not entirely looking him in the eye.

'He…he didn't?' Sam whispered, and the doctor shook his head.

Sam bit his lip, feeling the familiar pricking of tears in his eyes. He knew Dad wouldn't be able to get to his phone right away, but he'd fallen asleep by comforting himself that dad would check his messages during the night. Now that he hadn't, well, that just opened up a whole new wave of worrying possibilities. Sam knew that, even for older, skilled hunters like Dad and Bobby, hunting the supernatural could take up a lot of time. Even so, the actual hunting was usually done under the cover of darkness, and the sun had long since risen. The daytime part of the job usually involved a lot of driving around, talking to witnesses and researching stuff. Even if Dad was busy, he'd still have his phone, he'd still be able to listen to the many messages that had been left for him. The fact that he hadn't, Sam realised, was definitely not a good sign. There was any number of expectations for this, each worse than the lost. Dad could have lost his phone, there mightn't be any signal where he was, his phone might have got broken, he mightn't be in any fit state to answer it.

Sam had a sudden, horrifying vision of his Dad in hospital, his face and chest covered in blood just like Dean had been. He tried to reassure himself that if something terrible had happened, then Bobby would surely have let them know. But then again, Bobby might even know be trying to call Dean's cell, but that was no good because it had been destroyed in the crash. Or maybe Bobby had been hurt too? Then they would really be on their own.

It was then that Sam's breakfast decided to make a reappearance. Dr Roberts, trained professional that he was, reacted quickly and pushed the wastepaper basket to the side of the bed just in time.

'Oatmeal that bad, huh?' he said lightly, discretely disposing of the evidence once he was sure Sam had finished.

Sam weakly raised his head to look at the doctor, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 'What about Dean?' he asked urgently.

Dr Roberts let out another of his extremely annoying heavy sighs. 'Sam, we had no choice but to take your brother into surgery in the early hours of this morning.'

Somewhere, in the back of his numb, cotton wool brain, Sam dimly registered that this must mean that he and Dean had been taken away from Dad and placed into the custody of the state, but he pushed that away for the time being. Dean was more important right now. He had to put Dean first right now, and then focus on all the rest later. Hadn't Dean been putting Sam first all his life? Even in the confusing recollections of the car crash, Sam could vividly remember Dean's arm outstretched in front of him, keeping him safe even as the car skidded and spun wildly out of control. It really wasn't fair that Sam had gotten off so lightly.

'Is – is he ok?' Sam was almost afraid to ask. From his recent experiences, Dr Roberts didn't seem to be much in the way of delivering good news.

'It was tricky,' he replied at last, his slow speech doing nothing to calm Sam's nerves. 'It was major surgery, he lost a lot of blood, and, uh, we lost him once on the table.'

Sam would have been sick again if there was anything left in his stomach. 'You _lost_ him?' he gasped.

'Only for a minute,' Dr Roberts hastily amended, but the damage had been done.

Sam lay back on the bed, his eyes clenched shut. Lost. Dead. His brother had been dead for one whole minute. He pictured the scene; Dean lying, all alone, still covered in blood in Sam's mind, gasping for air before going still, his heart juddering to a halt, his eyes wide and blank. He knew there must have been a team of doctors and nurses crowded round him, but still, Sam couldn't help but picture his brother as being completely alone, no Sam, no Dad, nobody. It was hard to stomach the fact that Dean had died, actually died if only for a minute, while Sam had slept, at least fitfully, in another part of the hospital, completely unaware. Sam should have been there, if not in the actual operating theatre then right outside, waiting for news. He should have argued with Dr Roberts and insisted that he be allowed to go, or else sneaked down, rather than go to the phone. His call to Dad had been useless anyway.

'I need to see him,' Sam said, firmly, his mind made up.

'Sam-' Dr Roberts began but he was quickly cut off.

'You took us away from our dad,' Sam said, coldly, his eyes narrowed. 'I bet this is the least you could do.' He honestly didn't like having to play that card, but if he was allowed to see Dean…

'Yes, of course,' Dr Roberts sighed, and Sam noted that he actually sounded a little guilty. His eyes widened as Sam sat up and swung his legs out of bed. 'Now?'

Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes. For a doctor, this guy was acting incredibly dumb. 'Yeah,' he said, in a tone of forced politeness.

Dr Roberts looked weary and resigned but he had no choice to lead the way out of Sam's little room and out into the corridor beyond. 'You need to prepare yourself,' he said, not unkindly, holding a door open for Sam and leading him down an identical looking corridor to the last. 'Your brother's been through a terrible ordeal, and I don't want you to get upset looking at him.'

'I won't get upset,' Sam muttered under his breath, and Dr Roberts tactfully pretended not to hear him.

'Dean isn't breathing on his own right now,' he continued. 'He broke several ribs in the impact and punctured a lung so he'd been intubated. It can be quite distressing for family members to see,' he added quietly, glancing sideways at Sam, whose eyes were firmly trained ahead.

'Is he in pain?' Sam needed to know, clearly remembering how his brother had been refused strong pain relief the night before.

'No,' Dr Roberts answered quickly, glad to finally give a response that Sam wanted to hear. 'Given the nature of his injuries, he's been heavily sedated. He can't feel a thing.'

'Good,' Sam breathed out in relief, but it didn't last long. 'But he'll wake up soon, right?'

Dr Roberts simultaneously wished he could be the bearer of good news for a change, and also that the kid would stop being so damn inquisitive.

His hesitancy hadn't gone unnoticed. 'What now?' Sam burst out, earning him a very disapproving glare from a passing nurse.

'Just give your brother some time to recover,' Dr Roberts said quickly. 'Dean's on a lot of medication right now and…' He trailed off, noticing that Sam was no longer listening but was staring, wide eyed, at the door in front of them; Dean's room. 'Ready?' he asked quietly.

Sam nodded, his shoulders rigid and his fists clenched. Dr Roberts tightly grasped Sam's shoulder, reminding him so much of Dad and Dean back at the motel that he almost felt like crying, but he shook off the feeling of weakness. Dean needed him to be strong right now and no way were tears a good sign of strength. Wasn't that what Dad always said? And besides, it wasn't like Sam was scared or anything; he was only going to see his big brother, his big brother who was horribly injured and unconscious and they couldn't find Dad…

_Stop that_, he told himself firmly, _Dean needs you, remember?_

Dr Roberts knew Sam was going to be upset at seeing his brother, whom he clearly idolised, but he somehow thought that keeping the two boys apart would be even worse. He smiled sympathetically at Sam who, with his set jaw and squared shoulders, looked more like he was headed into battle than a hospital room, then pushed the door open and beckoned him inside.

'It's just like he's sleeping,' the doctors said, obviously clutching at straws as Sam entered the room and stopped dead, his eyes widening in horror.

This was a whopping great lie and Sam knew it. It wasn't like Dean was sleeping because Dean slept on his stomach, one arm under the pillow with his fist curled around the handle of a small, but sharp knife, ready to jump up at a split second's notice. Right now, Dean didn't look like he'd be jumping up anytime soon. In a daze, Sam crossed the room and sank into the chair beside the bed, his mind spinning as he struggled to come to terms with the awful reality in front of him.

It was some time before Sam could speak, before he choked out the question he desperately needed the answer to, even though he'd asked it before. 'You're sure he's not in any pain?'

'Absolutely,' Dr Roberts nodded. 'He can't feel a thing.'

Sam wondered if Dr Roberts was just lying to try and make him feel better. He was no doctor, but Dean sure as hell didn't look pain free to him. His right arm, which Sam guiltily remembered as the one which had helped to protect him in the crash, was hidden beneath a heavy plaster cast, starting from the base of his fingers and extending all the way up to just below his shoulder. His left arm was covered in gashes caused, Sam guessed, by the window smashing. Hardly able to believe that it could get any worse, but knowing with a horrible sinking feeling that it would, Sam's eyes took in the long, dark bruises trailing across his brother's chest, probably external evidence of the broken ribs. Dean's left leg, which his blanket didn't cover, was encased in some kind of brace that looked more like a medieval instrument of torture to Sam. He was sure that all that metal and what looked like needles poking into the bare skin actually caused more harm. Even the little of Dean's face that wasn't obscured by the obtrusive and horrible looking ventilator, looked awful. A long cut that started somewhere behind his hairline ran down his forehead, stopping just above his eyebrows. It had been expertly stitched up, Sam could tell, but it still looked terrible and would probably leave a long and vivid scar. Even the impressive bruises Sam had collected as souvenirs of the crash looked like nothing compared to Dean's magnificent black eye and the mottled purple of his cheekbones. Sam just hoped that whatever meds were being pumped through the IV in Dean's left hand were good.

Any one of Dean's injuries on their own would probably be too much for Sam to endure, but the combination of them altogether was surely agony. Sam felt the admiration and awe he had for his brother increased tenfold as he remembered how Dean had struggled through this for hours, receiving only the most basic and mild of pain relief.

'He's a real fighter, your brother,' Dr Roberts nodded.

'Yeah, I know he is,' Sam agreed, his eyes not moving from Dean's inert figure.

The room was momentarily silent but for the soft beeping and humming of the machines hooked up to Dean. Dr Roberts watched Sam, unable to keep his eyes off his beloved brother, and made the decision that it would be too cruel to go into details of his brother's ordeal the night before. Sam didn't need to know how Dean had spent hours in unimaginable agony, writhing in pain as much as his broken body would allow him, screaming and crying in a way that damn near broke the hearts of the doctors and nurses who were desperate to help him, but unable to do so. Dr Roberts knew he would never forget the kid's sobs as he called out again and again for a father who'd abandoned him, for a little brother he clearly loved more than anything else. As a father of two girls, around the ages of Sam and Dean, it was inconceivable to him that any father could abandon his kids and leave them to suffer like this. He wished he could give this Mr Winchester a piece of his mind, but he'd done his bit and these boys were safe now. That was all that mattered.

'I'll give you some privacy,' he murmured and Sam nodded without raising his head. Casting one last look back at the pair of them, he shook his head sadly and let the door close behind him.

Once Dr Roberts had gone, Sam let out the breath he hadn't even realised he was holding, still unable to look away from the critically injured boy he hardly recognised as his own brother. If the notes at the end of the bed hadn't read _'Dean Winchester'_ then Sam would have insisted that there must be some mistake. It was just inconceivable that his big brother, who'd done nothing but protect other people all his life, could be so sick and hurt, all through no fault of his own. Sam knew that it was due to his brother's quick thinking at the time that had stopped them both being more seriously injured, maybe even killed, but it still wasn't fair.

Sam almost wished that it was some kind of monster that had landed Dean in the hospital, a witch or a werewolf or something that could then be taken care of. He knew the son of a bitch that had been driving on the wrong side of the road would be punished, but, somehow, a jail sentence wouldn't be as satisfying as a silver bullet through a werewolf's chest. Sam had never before felt such a strong desire for vengeance and violence; any other time this would have deeply frightened him, but his mind was too preoccupied to dwell on it now. He just wanted the situation to be something that Dad could sort out and take care of. It was a second or two before he realised that Dad couldn't take care of it, because Dad wasn't here, hadn't answered his phone, hadn't listened to the frantic messages that said his sons could be taken away from him if he didn't get in touch. Fuelled by the sight of his brother and the realisation of his injuries, a sudden anger bubbled up inside Sam and he had to clench his fists and grit his teeth, feeling he might well explode. Later, Sam would feel incredibly guilty about this anger and his worry that something bad could have happened to Dad would return. Now, however, he was incredibly angry, furious even, with his father.

Sam had been angry with Dad before, of course, like when he'd had to go to bed while Dean got to stay up late, or when they had to move away from a town and a school where he'd made friends and had a cool field trip coming up. That was just stupid kids stuff, he now realised. Now he felt a boiling rage that Dad had gone off and left them alone, without bothering to fill in the forms that had very nearly cost Dean his life. Sam knew he would never, ever, have been able to forgive Dad if Dean had died before he could be treated. He was angry that Dad had gotten himself into a situation that he couldn't answer his phone when his sons needed him. He was angry at the lifestyle Dad had forced upon them that meant they had no medical insurance or contact numbers, and all the other normal things that everyone else took for granted.

Sam forced himself to calm down, knowing he couldn't afford to have a meltdown – Dr Roberts would probably have him locked in a very different kind of ward if he did. Instead, he focused on Dean instead. Even if it was caused by a machine, just watching the gentle rise and fall of his brother's chest was a blessing considering all that had happened the night before.

He wanted to hold Dean's hand, something that made him blush with embarrassment and feel like a little kid again. He hadn't needed to hold his brother's hand since was he was about seven and wasn't allowed to cross the street by himself. Now, however, he needed to hang onto Dean, to know that, even though Dean was supposedly 'asleep', he was still there and he was still Dean. Gingerly, Sam covered Dean's left hand with his own, carefully avoiding the IV and gently squeezing the bruised fingers. It was hard to believe that Dean, his larger than life, smartass big brother, could suddenly be so fragile that Sam felt the slightest touch could snap him in two.

'Hey, Dean,' he whispered, knowing that Dean probably couldn't hear him but needing to say the words anyway. 'It's Sam. Uh…I'm fine, so don't worry about me, 'cause I know you will, but just think of yourself, ok, dude? The doctors are gonna take good care of you, and I'll be right here. I promise I won't leave you alone.' He paused, not wanting to talk about how Dad hadn't been in touch and what Dr Roberts had done in order to operate. Just in case Dean could hear him, he didn't want him to get worried. Dean needed to concentrate on getting better, he didn't need all this extra crap. 'Dad's still on that job with Bobby,' he finally said, deciding that sounded innocent enough. 'But I'll be right here.'

He fell silent, just listening to the machines that were making sure his brother stayed alive. There was so much more he wanted to say but he knew he couldn't. As much as he wanted to, he knew it was just too selfish to offload it all onto Dean. Sam was well aware that the second Dean opened his eyes that he'd take charge, sort it all out, go back to protecting Sam and then Sam could feel safe again. Until then, he'd just have to let Dean recover in peace. Sam could handle it on his own until then, and besides, Dad would probably get in touch soon, right?

He gently rubbed his thumb across Dean's fingers in a comforting gesture that would have made them both squirm with embarrassment had Dean been awake. Sam was lost in his own thoughts and barely noticed the time passing, didn't register that the rumbling in his stomach meant that he was hungry and could really do with some food. He was only dimly aware that various doctors and nurses were continually bustling in and out, checking Dean's vitals, scribbling notes, adjusting the IV, checking the machines. Again and again, Sam was asked if he was ok, if he needed anything. He must have made some kind of response each time, but he was just glad that they didn't ask him to leave. He supposed he had Dr Roberts to thank for that.

It was to be expected that even when sometime during the long afternoon, someone new and unfamiliar entered the room, Sam still didn't look up.

'Samuel?'

It took a minute for Sam to realise that the small, professional looking woman was talking to him. He didn't think he'd ever actually ever been called by his first name; Sam, yes, and Sammy, unfortunately yes but never _Samuel._ It was just another reminder that this woman knew absolutely nothing about him or his family and she had no business sticking her nose in where it wasn't wanted.

He glared at her rather than replying.

'Samuel, my name is Maria. I'm going to be looking after your family's case.' She held out a slim, perfectly manicured hand for him to shake, which he didn't, so she quickly dropped it, looking very stupid in Sam's opinion. 'I work for Child Services,' she explained. 'I'm going to be your advocate.'

Checking that she had even a little of his attention, Maria, or whatever her name was, launched into a long winded and boring speech that Sam thought she must have practised saying in front of her bathroom mirror every morning. Most of it went completely over his head and he almost entirely switched off before a certain phrase registered in his mind and sent it reeling in panic.

'Foster family?' he repeated, not realising that he'd completely interrupted her right in the middle of a sentence. 'What do you mean foster family?'

She didn't seem to mind that he'd interrupted her, but actually seemed glad that he was listening. 'Sorry, I should have explained. A foster family look after children who-'

'I know what it is. I'm not stupid,' Sam said coldly. 'I just meant what does it have to do with me and Dean?'

She smiled pityingly at him, and looked set to ruffle his hair or pat his shoulder but he quickly pulled back out of her reach. 'Who did you think was going to look after you?' she asked quietly.

'Our dad,' he replied stubbornly.

'Samuel, I thought this was already explained to you.'

'It's _Sam.'_

'Sorry, Sam. I thought this had already been explained to you. Your father won't be looking after you anymore.'

'Yeah, I know.' Of course he knew it really, but he didn't like admitting it and saying it aloud only made it worse.

'Well, someone has got to look after you, don't they?' She sounded nice enough but there was a firm insistence to her voice that Sam didn't like one bit.

'Dean can look after me then.' Sam wrenched his eyes away from the bed. The logical part of his brain was telling him that there was no way that Dean would be allowed to look after Sam by himself. These doctors and social workers didn't know that it had always been Dean's job to protect him. To them, Dean was just a kid, and a kid that had been seriously injured at that.

'You know that he can't, Sam,' Maria said gently. 'I had a meeting with his doctors this morning to discuss his progress. Dean's on enough sedation and pain medication to keep him asleep for a couple of days. Even after that, he has a long and difficult recovery process ahead of him. Your brother is going to need a lot of respiratory and physiotherapy.'

'But that'll take ages!'

'Exactly, Sam, and while Dean's recovering, the doctors can take care of him.'

'But what about me?'

'Well, that's where the foster family will come in. There's a very nice family who live nearby, so you can stay at the same school, and you'll be able to come and visit Dean whenever you want.' Her smile was encouraging, but Sam wasn't convinced. He switched off again as she listed all the good things about this new arrangement. He didn't want to listen, he still couldn't quite believe that it was real, and nothing this woman said could make it any better.

'When Dean's better, then he'll come to this family too, right?' The only way Sam was going to agree to this was if Dean was coming too. Even if it wasn't right away, the promise that Dean would be coming eventually would be enough to get Sam through it, Dad or no Dad.

'We'll just have to wait and see.'

Sam was sick of these stupid, vague answers. 'Is that a yes or a no?' he demanded. 'Are you letting me stay with my brother or not? I mean, you've already taken me away from my dad, so this couldn't hurt, right?'

'Now, Sam, you're not being fair-'

'I'm not being fair?' Sam could hear his voice rising, and if he wasn't completely sure that his shouting wouldn't wake Dean up, then he would have tried to calm down.

'Of course we'll try to keep the two of you together, but you have to realise that it's not always possible.'

Sam opened his mouth to reply but could think of nothing to say in retaliation.

'We've arranged for you to stay here at the hospital for a few days.' Maria seemed eager to say something that Sam would actually agree with. 'You'd like that, right? I've talked to Dr Roberts and he's happy to let you stay as long as you do what you're told.'

Sam couldn't believe this unexpected turn of good luck. He'd half expected this Maria lady to drag him to this stupid foster family right away.

'Well, I'll be back again tomorrow to check in with you, ok?'

He didn't even look up as she left the room, but resumed his position beside Dean, crossing his legs as he attempted to make the hard backed chair a little more comfortable. It looked like he was going to be there a while. In spite of himself, he could feel his eyelids closing, comforted by the steady, reassuring beeping of Dean's heart monitor. It had been a very long day and Sam wasn't exactly sure what the next few days were going to bring. But for now, at least, he was with Dean and that was all that mattered.

When Dr Roberts put his head round the door later that evening, he paused in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the scene that greeted him. He found Sam asleep, his head resting on his folded arms on the edge of Dean's bed. He was about to go in and wake Sam to tell him that a bed had been set up for him, but he stopped himself when he noticed the boys' joined hands. Dean's lax hand was tightly held in Sam's, as though afraid he was going to lose his brother if he didn't hang on tight. He was sure it wasn't the most comfortable sleeping position for Sam, but he couldn't bring himself to break the two boys apart. He knew that Sam definitely wouldn't thank him if he did, and besides, it was doing no harm. A quick inspection told him that Dean was still out of it, his vitals were as good as could be expected, and he was receiving all the medication he needed. Dr Roberts had the suspicion that these boys usually slept right beside each other and who was he to stop that? A little routine would be good, and Sam's words kept echoing horribly in his head. _'You took us away from our dad. I bet this is the least you could do.'_

As he closed the door gently behind him, Dr Roberts reflected sadly that, at last, he might just have done something Sam Winchester might thank him for.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Sorry for the delay in the update but this was a particularly difficult chapter to write (John Winchester, it transpires, is not an easy man to write) and it took me a while to get it right. Thanks to everyone who has shown an interest in this story so far and I'd really appreciate reviews, especially on this chapter! As always, I apologise for any wrong Americanisms, and inaccuracies to do with medical and legal stuff!**

Ok, so it was never going to be 'four days tops' and John had always known that, but six days wasn't bad, right? Once he'd gotten to Bobby and discerned that it wasn't a skinwalker they were hunting but a Black Dog, and a pack of them at that, he'd expected it to take at least a week. Six days was nothing, good even, and his boys were used to it by now. As usual, it occurred to him that it wasn't normal, or good, for two kids to be left alone as often as Sam and Dean were, but that was always a dangerous thought to pursue, and it never ended well. Besides, things hadn't been normal, or good, in twelve years, so it was enough that he was getting back to the boys now.

He genuinely missed them whenever he was away, and this time was no different. It had almost been a relief when they were younger to get away for a while and have the car to himself, but the silence was alien and unnatural to him now. He was used to having Dean sitting shotgun and fiddling with the radio and singing along. John smiled to himself. The kid had great taste in music, but couldn't carry a tune to save his life. And while it grated and irritated him at the time, it didn't feel right not having Sammy continually asking if they were there yet from the back seat.

He'd have liked to have called them, just to make sure that everything was ok, but his damn phone had been smashed during the first night on the hunt. It had dropped out of his pocket and the stupid beast had trampled on it. He usually checked in on the boys wherever he could and he supposed he could have used a payphone, but he'd honestly been so busy that he hadn't been able to find the time. Anyway, if the boys had needed anything, then they would have called Bobby if they couldn't reach him; Dean had the number memorised. They'd be fine though, they always were, and John knew that Dean kept such a close eye on Sam that he wouldn't be able to blow his nose without his big brother knowing about it, and offering him a tissue. Dean was a lot like Mary in that way.

Even still, John couldn't help but feel a little uneasy, and he sped the truck up. Six days suddenly seemed a long time to go without hearing anything from his kids at all. He'd stopped at a gas station a couple of miles back and used all his spare change trying to call Dean's cell but the kid hadn't answered. John contented himself with the fact that, because it was early afternoon, Dean would still be in school and so, wouldn't be able to answer his phone. Still, he was eager to get back to his boys. Maybe he'd swing by their school and pick them up. Yeah, he'd like that, and he knew the boys would act embarrassed but they'd secretly like it too.

Then again, just as always, the best intentions never quite worked out, as John was reminded that afternoon. He pulled up outside Kennedy High School for the first time since enrolling Sam and Dean a few weeks before, and waited for them to come out. Just as he turned the engine off, he could hear the distant ring of the bell signalling the end of the school day and almost immediately, hundreds of kids began pouring down the front steps. John peered through the throng of kids, keeping his eyes peeled for a familiar figure in a leather jacket with an equally familiar floppy haired kid trailing along behind him.

Five minutes passed, and the crowd of kids thinned slightly. John tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Ten minutes, and still there was no sign of either of his sons. By the time fifteen minutes had gone by, only a few stragglers could be seen coming down the steps. John frowned, wondering if he should have stopped one of the kids and asked if they'd seen Sam or Dean. However, there was no guarantee that any of these kids would actually know his boys; they'd only be in town for a few weeks after all. In a normal situation, kids would have plenty of friends at school, and a father would know who his sons' friends were, but this was far from a normal situation. In fact, John had the horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that something definitely wasn't right, that something had gone terribly wrong.

He supposed there was a possibility that he might simply have missed them on their way out, but alarm bells were sounding in his head and he knew he wouldn't be satisfied until his boys were in front of him. He consoled himself with the thought that they would be waiting for him back at the motel room and he drove there right away with his heart in his mouth.

Room 17 of the Harvest Motel was locked, and Dean would have the key, but the locks in these kinds of places were cheap. It easily gave way when John put his shoulder against it and the door swung open. The room was just as John had left it six days ago, but with two notable exceptions; Sam and Dean were nowhere to be seen.

John stepped into the room, dimly recognising that the salt line at the door was unbroken. That, at least, was one less thing to worry about, but it still didn't explain where the hell his boys were. He looked all about the room, his heart hammering painfully, as he realised that everything was _exactly_ as he had left it. Sam's school books were laid out on the kitchen table, a car magazine of Dean's lay open on his bed…the neatly made bed that clearly hadn't been slept it. John felt sick as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. This just couldn't be happening. It looked like the boys hadn't been here since he left, so where were they, and what the hell had happened?

John forced himself to keep calm, to try and think logically. He quickly crossed to the window and took advantage of the perfect view of the motel parking lot. There were a few cars there, his own truck was haphazardly parked across two spaces, but the Impala definitely wasn't there. It wasn't exactly easy to hide, after all. So wherever the boys had gone, they'd taken the car with them. There had to be a simple, innocent explanation for all of this. Maybe they'd driven to school? But all Sam's books were still here! The idea that they might have skipped school briefly crossed his mind, but the thought was gone in an instant. Dean might be up for that, but he knew Sam would never agree to missing school.

John's mind was spinning, and he wasn't sure where to turn or what to do. Should he go to the police and report his sons as missing? A team could immediately go out searching for them, that was true, but that would lead to awkward questions and unwanted attention about why Sam and Dean had been left alone for six days and why the alarm had only been raised now. Maybe he could report the Impala as being stolen, and if the car was recovered then it could lead him to his boys. School. He'd go back to their school and find out if they'd been attending classes. Maybe someone there would know what was going on. He would have spoken to the person behind the desk at the motel but, typically, there was nobody there when he needed them.

He sprinted back to the truck as fast as his legs would carry him and in a matter of seconds he was on the road again, going as fast as the small town speed restrictions would allow him. He almost took a wrong turning twice, unfamiliar with the town as he was, and he found himself driving past a salvage yard he'd never even noticed before.

It might have slipped his notice again if it wasn't for the car that lay abandoned right at the front of the yard. Or rather, the wreck of the car.

John had pulled up and gotten out of the car almost without realising what he was doing. On slightly unsteady legs he ran to what was left of the Impala. He didn't even need to check the license plates to know that it was their car, he'd recognise it anywhere, but he'd never seen it quite like this; the driver side was completely crushed in, the windows were smashed, and the entire back of the car had been crumpled. A car crash. A terrible, awful car crash was the only thing that could have done this, and if this was the state of the car, then the boys must be…

'Hey! Can I help you?' John looked up to see a man in oil splattered overalls coming towards him. 'Can I help you?' he asked again.

He struggled to get the words out. 'Th-this car…what happened?'

'She's a beauty, isn't she? They don't make 'em like this anymore, but this poor girl's been through the wars alright.'

'What happened?' John repeated, more forcefully this time.

'You didn't hear?' the mechanic asked, grimly shaking his head. 'There was a big accident a few nights ago, about three cars involved. Drunk driver on the wrong side of the road, I heard,' he added, in a tone of intense disapproval.

John shook his head, trying to process what he'd just heard. 'W-was everyone…ok?'

The mechanic raised an eyebrow, as though John was being incredibly stupid. 'It was a three car pileup,' he said slowly.

'But nobody was…killed or anything, right? Right?'

'Hey, buddy, you alright?'

John shrugged off the hand the mechanic had placed on his shoulder. 'There were two kids in this car,' he said urgently. 'Two boys. Do you know what happened to them?'

'Listen, bud, I'm just a mechanic, alright? I towed all the cars from the accident, that's it.'

John turned away from him, his mind racing as he roughly raked a hand through his hair. His boys had been in a serious car accident, and he hadn't known anything about it for six days. He had to get to the hospital right away.

'What's the quickest way to the hospital?' he asked.

The mechanic frowned, but didn't press the issue, choosing instead just to give directions to the hospital, for which John was immeasurably grateful, and he was back in the car again, speeding off towards his destination.

He must have driven there as fast as the old pickup truck would go, and he must have broken every speed limit but he was hardly aware of what he was doing. He couldn't allow himself to do anything but focus all his energy on getting there, he couldn't think about what he was going to find, about what his state his boys were in, whether they were even still alive…

At last, the ugly concrete building that was the hospital loomed into view. John must have stopped the engine and parked the truck somewhere, but again, everything was a blur as he sprinted towards the doors of the emergency room, hoping that someone there could take him to Sam and Dean.

He skidded to a halt at the desk, breathing heavily as the nurse looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

'Can I help you, sir? Are you hurt?'

John brushed off her concern for him at once. 'There's nothing wrong with me,' he said dismissively. 'I'm looking for my sons, I…they were in a car accident-'

The nurse frowned. 'Sir, I'm sorry but we haven't had any car accident victims brought in today. Are you sure you have the right hospital.'

'No, it wasn't today,' John said quickly, immediately realising just how terrible that sounded. 'It was, uh, a couple of days ago.'

'Sir-'

'No, listen, you gotta let me see them, please. Their names are…' He trailed off, wondering if his boys had gone by their real names. 'Sam and Dean,' he finished, deciding the truth was probably his best bet. 'Please, they're just kids, you have to tell me if they're ok.'

With that same frown still etched on her face, the nurse tapped away at her keyboard before looking up at him with narrowed eyes.

'Winchester?' she said at last. 'Sam and Dean Winchester?'

'Yes!' John said eagerly. 'Where are they? Are they ok? Can-'

'Sir, I need you to take a seat for me, alright? I'm going to page Dr Roberts to come and speak to you.'

'Can't you just take me to see them?'

'Sir, please take a seat.'

He probably could have argued more, raised his voice and made a scene, but he decided to take a seat and wait for this doctor to show himself. He sat down heavily on a hard plastic chair and buried his face in his hands, unable to get rid of the unwelcome images that now filled his mind.

For some reason, the memories of that terrible night, the night this all started, the last time his sons had been truly vulnerable, began racing across his mind's eye. He remembered scooping up little Sammy and bundling him into Dean's arms; it was the first time he'd given Dean the instruction to protect his little brother and not look back. Dean's protection had been good enough for Sam ever since and John had never had reason to doubt it. But now, for the first time, he had to wonder if maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe Dean hadn't protected Sam this time.

_Don't start blaming Dean for this_, a little voice in the back of his mind said sharply, _this is your fault, John Winchester, not Dean's. You should be the one protecting Sammy, protecting both of them. Dean's just a kid too, remember._

But that was the thing; Dean had stopped being a kid at the age of four when he'd bolted from a burning house with his baby brother clutched tight to his chest. Only now was John seeing that sixteen wasn't grown up. Sixteen, after all, was still very, very young. Most sixteen year olds were just worried about grades and curfew; their biggest responsibility was tidying their bedroom and turning in homework on time, not looking after their little brother. And most twelve year olds had their parents to watch out for them, and keep them safe.

But not his boys. Not Sam and Dean.

'Mr Winchester?'

John was startled out of his thoughts by the appearance of a graying man in a white coat by his side.

'Mr Winchester, I'm Dr Roberts. I've been in charge of your sons' care.'

John was on his feet in an instant. 'Are they ok?' he asked quickly.

'Are you aware of what happened, sir?' John detected more than a note of coldness in the doctor's voice.

'Sort of,' he admitted quietly. 'I only just heard about the car crash and'

'Your sons were involved in a very serious car accident, Mr Winchester, through no fault of their own. A driver, highly intoxicated, was driving on the wrong side of the road and collided with your sons, then, after being spun round, another car crashed into them from behind.'

John's breath caught in his chest while images of his sons, covered in blood and trapped in the wreckage of the car, danced across his mind.

'How badly were they hurt?' he asked, in a kind of strangled whisper.

Dr Roberts continued talking, not entirely giving John a straight answer right away. 'A passenger in one of the other cars called the ambulance and we got the boys to the hospital as quickly as possible.'

'How badly were they hurt?' he asked again, more insistent for an answer this time.

Dr Roberts seemed to take a tiny amount of pity on him. 'Sam came round at the scene and was lucid and coherent.'

A small spasm of relief flooded through John; that didn't sound too bad. But Dr Roberts was still speaking.

'We managed to get Sam patched up fairly quickly. He has a hairline fracture on his right wrist and has some minor cuts and bruises, but he's fine otherwise.'

John breathed out loudly. A fractured wrist and cuts and bruises? That was nothing compared to what he'd imagined. Sammy was fine. Thank God.

'And Dean?' he asked eagerly.

Dr Roberts hesitated for a moment and the relief John had felt instantly died away.

'Dean was more seriously injured,' he said at last, and John could practically feel himself going pale. 'He took most of the impact when the other car collided.'

John had to tightly clench his fists as Dr Roberts' words washed over him, hearing phrases like 'shattered bones' and 'punctured lung' and 'broken ribs' and 'fractured skull.'

'But h-he's going to be ok, isn't he?' John asked weakly.

'Mr Winchester, we had to perform extensive surgery on your son to repair the internal damage and relieve the pressure on his brain. It was a long and difficult operation and we lost Dean once on the table.'

John's legs buckled beneath and he sank back into the chair, feeling weak at the thought of his eldest son, his Dean, dying on some generic operating table. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

'It was difficult, but the surgery was successful and Dean has been recovering as well as can be expected ever since. Given the circumstances, he's a very lucky young man. He couldn't have waited much longer for the operation.'

John frowned. 'Waited? What do you mean waited?'

Dr Roberts surveyed him critically. 'We were unable to perform the operation right away-'

John felt his temper rising, and it was all he could do not to yell at the doctor. 'What the hell do you mean you couldn't operate on him right away?'

The doctor frowned. 'It is hospital policy that we cannot perform major surgery, or administer strong pain relief, to a minor without parental consent; parental consent, unfortunately, that neither of your sons had.'

John struggled to process this information. 'Parental consent?' he repeated at last.

'Yes, Mr Winchester,' Dr Roberts said coolly. 'Parental consent. You didn't fill out the paperwork that would have allowed Dean the surgery and pain relief that he desperately needed. We then tried to phone you, I myself tried countless times, the entire secretarial team tried throughout the night, and even Sam tried. I saw him myself, sneaking out of bed, to do so. It got to the point where we couldn't wait any longer; Dean wouldn't have survived the night if he hadn't received the operation.'

John tried to speak, but no words came out.

'We had to take matters into our own hands, you see, Mr Winchester. In order to receive the operation, your parental rights over Dean, and Sam as well, were revoked and both boys have since been placed in the custody of the state.'

It felt like the floor was falling away from beneath him. The entire world was shifting and spinning out of control. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

'You-you can't do that,' John heard himself saying. 'You can't just…take kids away from their families like this.'

'You can when a father abandons his two children,' Dr Roberts said coldly. 'You can when two children are abused, neglected, then left alone, with Dean nearly dying as a result of your negligence.'

'Let me see them,' John said, and he was surprised at the firmness of his voice.

'I'm afraid that's not possible, Mr Winchester. You no longer have the right to see the boys, at least not until an arrangement has been made with Child Services.'

'You let me see my sons right now.'

'Like I said, you can't, not until Child Services have had their say.'

'To hell with Child Services!' John said loudly. 'Take me to my sons right now!'

Neither of them heard the doors of the emergency room opening or a small pair of frantic footsteps running towards them, and the sound of a familiar voice surprised both of them.

'Dad!'

John looked round just in time to see Sam running to him before almost being knocked over as his youngest son flung himself into his father's arms.

'Hey, Sammy,' he said quietly into his son's hair as Sam hooked his good arm round him and hung on tight.

Dr Roberts swore under his breath as he checked his watch. He'd forgotten that Sam would be arriving at the hospital after school. 'Sam, why don't you go on upstairs to Dean and let your dad and I talk?'

Sam looked uncertainly between Dr Roberts and John, biting his lip as though he wasn't sure what to do.

'It's ok, Sam,' John said quietly, gently disentangling himself from his son's grip. 'You go watch Dean for me, alright? I'm going to sort out everything down here and then I'll be up to see you both.'

'You promise you're going to fix everything?' Sam asked, only reluctantly loosening his grip and looking at John with those big eyes that damn near broke his heart.

'I promise,' John said, attempting a smile and hoping that Sam didn't hear the catch in his voice.

Sam nodded, and began to walk away, neatly avoiding the hand Dr Roberts was clearly trying to place on his shoulder. He paused just as he reached the door and looked back over his shoulder to where John and Dr Roberts were silently watching him. John could see that his son was struggling to put something into words before he finally said, in a broken, defeated, and most unlike Sam voice, 'You should have been here, Dad. We needed you.'

And there was the truth of the matter. Just like Mary all those years before, Sam and Dean had needed John to protect them, and he wasn't there.

_Story of my life._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry that it's been so long since the last update. I have been without a computer for a month now and have only just got it back (losing all my documents, but that's another story!). Thanks for coming back to read it after the delay and I'd really appreciate you reviews!**

Sam let the heavy door swing shut behind him, effectively blocking out the sounds of Dad's now rather heated discussion with Dr Roberts. As he began the familiar route up the stairs to Dean's room, it occurred to Sam that he honestly didn't know what to feel about Dad's sudden reappearance. Sure he'd ran into Dad's arms and held on for all he was worth just now, but he'd been caught off guard and he hadn't even thought about what he was doing. It had felt good to have Dad back again but then Dr Roberts had stepped in, and Sam was reminded of everything that had happened over the past few days. It suddenly all came back to him that Dad had left them alone, and hadn't answered his phone, and hadn't signed the paperwork that nearly cost Dean his life...

Sam had whole-heartedly meant it when he said that Dad should have been here, but he was also glad that Dad was here now. Sam sighed loudly as he rounded the corridor that led to Dean's room. This whole situation was far too complicated and confusing for his liking. However, he couldn't help but think that Dad's reappearance into their lives was a good sign, a good omen even. It was impossible not to take things like that seriously, given the lifestyle they led. Maybe the fact that Dad was back would pave the way for Dean coming back; finally waking up and being like his old self again.

There had been a few little things, some of which Sam had been present for, that indicated that Dean was still in there somewhere, and was still _Dean_ beneath all the layers of bandages and tubes and wires. Sam was sure he hadn't imagined that Dean's fingers had tightened round his yesterday, if only for a second or two, and his eyes had definitely moved a little, though the lids had stayed firmly shut. Maybe today would finally be the day when he woke up. Sam never thought he'd miss the sound of his brother's voice, but going nearly a week without hearing it was far too long, and he was looking forward to Dean waking up and kicking his ass for all the hand holding and snivelling.

However, as he pushed open the door to Dean's room, he was greeted with the same sight again; a pale and still Dean hooked up to machines and clearly still out for the count. The only good thing, Sam noticed, was that the ventilator had finally been removed and had been exchanged for a much less terrifying oxygen mask instead. This had to be another good sign, right? Sam sighed as he shrugged off his backpack and sat down in the chair beside the bed. Maybe it had been too much to ask that everything could start going well for a change.

He still said hello to Dean, as had become his custom, as he settled down for another long afternoon in an uncomfortable chair. He extracted a heavy history textbook from his backpack and began to read the chapter his class was being tested on next week. He'd had to borrow the book from school since all his own were back at the motel and he hadn't been allowed to go back there and get them.

Sam was halfway through the chapter on the Civil War when the slight rustling of bed sheets caught his attention instead and all the facts he'd been trying to memorise instantly flew from his mind. He all but tossed his book aside as he looked down to see Dean's left hand tightly gripping the blanket it lay on.

'Come on, Dean,' Sam found himself whispering. 'Come on, man, please wake up.'

Sam knew he should run and find a doctor or a nurse right away, but he was filled with a childish, almost selfish need to be the one who was there when his brother finally woke up. It had been his biggest worry the last few days that Dean would wake up alone, and he definitely owed it to his brother to make sure that didn't happen. It was bad enough that Dean had suffered through a night of agony without Sam or even Dad there, and he didn't deserve the same treatment when he woke up.

All at once, Dean started coughing, loud rattling coughs that startled Sam into action. He sprinted towards the door at once, almost tripping over his own feet and knocking over a chair in his haste. He was halfway out the door when-

'S-Sam?'

Sam turned back towards the bed at once, stopping dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in delighted surprise as they met Dean's for the first time in nearly a week. He was back at the bed at once, watching his brother blinking up at him.

'Hey, Dean, it's me,' Sam said quickly, spotting the call button by the bed and jabbing it with his finger. 'Oh God, I can't believe you're awake. Can you hear me? How are you feeling? Sorry, stupid question. I'm just so glad you're awake, Dean, I was so worried.'

Sam knew he was babbling and that maybe he should actually give Dean the time to answer his questions, but before he could do much more, the room was suddenly filled with doctors and nurses. Sam was none too gently pushed aside as they crowded round the bed and he was irresistibly reminded of the scene of the accident when the paramedics had rushed by with Dean and left him behind. But it wasn't like this time, things had to be different now, and even though they were wheeling Dean away for tests, that was ok and he'd be back soon, right?

In fact, it was early evening before they brought Dean back, awake but exhausted and confused. Sam overheard some of the nurses talking and was relieved to hear that, apart from a little confusion, Dean's brain had suffered no long term effects from the accident. Well, he was going to need a lot of physical and respiratory therapy, but they could deal with that later. For now, Sam was just looking forward to seeing Dean and making sure, with his own eyes, that his brother was going to be ok.

Dean tried his best to stifle a groan of pain, but it was a close run thing, as whoever was pushing his bed didn't seem particularly good at manoeuvring it through doors. Dean Winchester wasn't one for admitting pain, but right now, he didn't mind admitting to himself that he felt like absolute crap and would gladly take whatever medication they cared to throw at him. Even just lying still and breathing hurt like a bitch and he wasn't sure he could move, even if he wanted to. Squinting through bleary eyes, he could see that one of his legs was covered in a metal brace that made him feel sick to look at it. Twitching his fingers felt like an enormous effort and, by turning his head as much as some kind of oxygen mask would allow him, he discovered a heavy plaster cast covering most of his arm. Broken bones he could deal with, but all the rest was worrying and Dean wished these doctors could knock him out for several days and let him sleep it off. He knew he had to stay awake though, at least for a little while longer, and find out just what the hell was going on. The stupid doctors and nurses were incredibly vague about it and managing to draw enough air into his battered lungs in order to ask had been no easy feat. Having no recollection of what had landed him in hospital, Dean could only assume that their latest hunt had gone south and that was the reason for all the uncertainty and vagueness. The sooner he could talk to Sam and Dad the better. he needed to make sure they were ok. If his own current condition was anything to go by...

He was relieved to find Sam sitting in a chair waiting for him when he was finally wheeled back into his room. Sam looked awful, pale with dark circles under his eyes and his right wrist was wrapped up in a bandage, but he seemed to be ok for the most part. He was at least capable to sitting up by himself which, unfortunately, was more than Dean could say for himself right now.

'Hey Sammy,' he said weakly, his voice somewhat muffled through the oxygen mask once they were finally left alone.

'Dean!'

Sam looked ready to fling his arms round him and hug him tight, and Dean didn't want to begrudge the kid that, but he honestly felt like his ribs would all snap at the slightest contact. Something must have shown in his face; Sam stiffened and an embarrassed flush instantly crept into his cheeks. Dean closed his eyes, internally berating and cursing himself.

_Way to look out for Sammy, Dean._

'Sorry,' both boys blurted out at once, then the two grinned almost sheepishly at each other.

'Don't worry about me,' Dean said quickly, with the mindset that his breath would run out if he didn't speak quickly enough.

Sam actually laughed at that, if only for a second or two. 'You're kidding, right? Have you seen the state of yourself recently?'

'Sammy, all I can see...is you and you don't...' He broke off, breathing heavily, and the hint of the smile on Sam's face slipped away at once. 'I'm fine,' he said quickly, once his lungs had decided to do their damn job again. 'Really,' he said firmly since Sam hadn't quite gotten rid of that wide eyed deer-caught-in-the-headlights look of panic. Sam didn't seem entirely convinced so Dean decided that a drastic change of subject was needed. 'So, uh, what happened?'

Sam's look of panic instantly turned to one of concern. 'You don't remember at all?'

Dean shook his head, instantly regretting the action with the throbbing pain it brought on. 'The last thing I remember...' he trailed off, thinking so hard that his headache seemed to get even worse, but coming up with nothing. 'I don't know,' he said at last.

'We got in a car accident,' Sam said quietly. 'You and me. Some drunk guy was on the wrong side of the road and he crashed into us. You tried to get our car out of the way, and you nearly did, but we got hit and spun around and, uh, hit again.' Sam trailed off, vigorously shaking his head. 'It was awful,' he finished quietly.

As Sam spoke, things began to click into place into Dean's mind and he could vaguely remember, though it was fuzzy and there were pieces missing. He was in the car with Sam, and talking, and laughing, and then...

He swore under his breath, then those protective, big brother instincts kicked into overdrive. 'But you're ok...aren't you, Sammy?'

Sam looked at him in silence for a moment. 'I'm fine,' he answered quietly. 'Seriously, Dean, all I got was a sprained wrist and it's not even that sore anymore.'

Dean was trying to put into words that Sam shouldn't have been hurt at all on his watch when something that Sam had said hit home. 'What do you mean...anymore?' he asked, suddenly noticing how a cut on Sam's cheekbone seemed a little faded almost like it was nearly faded.

Sam bit his lip, his anxious eyes doing nothing to quell the anxious butterflies that had suddenly risen up in Dean's stomach. 'Well, uh, the crash happened six days ago, Dean.'

Dean stared back at his little brother in silence. He had the vague impressions that his mouth was moving but no words were coming out. Six days? He must be in seriously bad shape if he'd been out of it for nearly a week. This whole thing just kept getting worse and worse. With that familiar twinge of guilt making itself known, he realised that Sam must have gone through hell these past six days and he wasn't making it any better by gaping at him like an idiot.

_Get a grip, Winchester, Sammy needs you. _

'S-six days, huh?' Dean said quickly, trying his hardest to cover up his moment of panic and confusion.

'Six days,' Sam confirmed grimly. 'You got surgery the night you were brought in, and it was really major surgery and you'd lost so much blood and you _died_, Dean, for a whole minute, you were dead.'

Dean felt his blood turn cold at Sam's words, but he pushed the image of his own lifeless body to the back of his mind for now. Right now he was much more concerned at the fact that his little brother was crying, crying openly like he hadn't done in years. Dean felt an unfamiliar sting of tears in his own eyes and he cursed the wires and the cast and the pain that kept him from sitting up and taking his brother in his arms like they were both little kids again. He tried to think of something, anything, to say to help Sam feel better, but Sam was speaking again, regardless of the tears flowing freely down his cheeks.

'And then they wouldn't let me see you, not until the next morning, and you...you looked like you'd been to hell and back. They said you couldn't feel anything but you couldn't hear me and you couldn't open your eyes and I was so scared that you wouldn't wake up.'

Sam broke off, too overcome to talk anymore, and Dean honestly didn't know what to do. He tried to reach out a hand to his little brother, but Sam had pulled back, burying his face in his hands and all Dean could do was watch in horror. He wanted to speak to Sam, to let him know that everything was going to be ok now, but, of course, at that moment, his lungs decided to stop cooperating again. Instead of the comforting, reassuring speech he was composing in his head, all he could do for a moment or two was cough loudly. He watched the little colour left in Sammy's face drained away, tear tracks sparkling on his cheeks, as he fought to catch his breath. Breathing shouldn't be that hard, he'd been successfully doing it for sixteen years, but even still, it took a great deal of effort and energy to finally regain control.

Dean wanted nothing more than to lie back and got to sleep, his eyelids had already started to slide shut at the thought, but he forced himself to stay awake. From what Sam had said, he'd been out cold for six days; he owed it to his brother to be awake and there for him now.

'It's ok, Sammy,' he managed to say at last, though there was definitely nothing 'ok' about his slow and slurred speech. 'Everything's...ok now, right?'

Sam had finally removed his hands from his face, but he was shaking his head vigorously, like a dog trying to rid itself of water. Any other time, Dean might have made a joke about that, but now was definitely not the time.

'What is it?' he asked urgently, raising his head a little to try and get a better look at his brother. 'Sammy?'

When Sam didn't immediately answer, Dean began to think up a terrifying list of explanations. He'd never be able to walk again, he'd had to get plastic surgery on his face, the Impala had been totalled with no chance of repair...

'The car?' he guessed when Sam still hadn't spoken. 'Don't worry...I can fix-'

'It's Dad,' Sam finally blurted out.

Again, Dean found himself struggling for words. He should have realised that something was wrong when Dad wasn't in the room with Sam. Had he been hurt too? But Dad hadn't been in the car with them, had he? Dean's recollections were too fuzzy and pain filled to answer his own question.

'W-what happened?' Dean asked once some vague command over his speech had returned to him. He could feel his whole body tensing, despite the protests of his painful limbs, as he waited anxiously for an answer. 'Is Dad...he's ok, right?'

Sam looked back at him, his eyebrows raised so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. 'He's fine,' he said at last, in a quiet, almost bitter tone that was so unlike Sammy that Dean felt more than a little taken aback.

Dean frowned, then stopped at the shooting pain in his forehead; he was much too tired and sore for Mr Cryptic right now. 'Sammy, I don't-'

Sam sighed loudly, cutting Dean off, though Dean wasn't exactly sorry; he was eager to find out just what the hell Sam was talking about, and besides, his throat felt like sandpaper. He listened in silence when Sam began to speak, relieved to hear that the unfamiliar bitter edge to Sam's voice had gone, though it was now strangely quiet and flat.

'Dad's fine,' he began, his expression blank and weirdly emotionless. 'He wasn't in the car crash with us or anything like that.'

'Then what-'

'You really don't remember?' Sam sighed as Dean shook his head, then took a deep breath and spoke again. 'Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days.'

At first, Dean could see nothing out of the ordinary with Sam's statement, and he wasn't sure why Sam was so upset.

But Sam hadn't finished yet.

'So Dad was gone, and that was ok, but then we had the accident and the hospital couldn't get in contact with him.'

Dean bit his lip, waiting for Sam to go on.

'This stupid hospital has a freakin' stupid policy that says kids can't get treated unless their parents give permission. Apparently there are forms you're meant to sign, but Dad hadn't signed any for us.'

'We've only been here for a few weeks,' Dean cut in quickly.

'I tried to explain that, but they didn't care and Dr Roberts said they couldn't operate on you or even give you any good pain relief unless Dad got in contact.'

Dean shifted uncomfortably, glad his fuzzy brain had no recollection of that night.

'Dr Roberts called Dad a bunch of times, and I did as well, but all we got was his voicemail. Then, when I woke up the next morning, Dr Roberts told me they'd taken you in for the operation during the night.'

'So Dad phoned?' Dean asked, relaxing a little.

Eyes wide again, Sam shook his head slowly and Dean felt a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. 'Shit,' was all he could say and Dean wasn't surprised to find himself whispering.

'Dr Roberts said that if they waited any longer...well, you couldn't have waited, put it that way, and they were almost too late as it was. The only way for them to perform the surgery was to, uh, to have us both declared wards of the state, which means-'

'They took us away from Dad,' Dean finished for him, remembering the phrase from some boring old legal drama when there'd been nothing else on TV one long night in a crappy motel. 'Shit,' he said again and Sam nodded again, his eyes sparkling with tears.

'What are we going to do, Dean?' Sam whispered. 'A woman from Child Services has been in and she says I have to go with a foster family and that you mightn't even be able to come with me!'

'You aren't going anywhere without me,' Dean said fiercely, mustering the last vestiges of his strength to close his left hand round Sam's uninjured wrist, glad that Sam's hand lay beside his on the bed. He was almost afraid to ask the next question, worried about the answer might be. 'And has Dad...' he allowed his voice to trail off.

Sam gave a curt nod, his eyes fixed unblinkingly ahead though he didn't shrug Dean's hand off, as he was sometimes prone to do. 'Dad came by for the first time this afternoon,' he said, in that strange, flat tone from earlier. 'And Dr Roberts said he wasn't allowed to see us until Child Services made some kind of an arrangement.'

If he was feeling even remotely well, Dean would have declared that this entire situation was 'Complete bullshit!', jumped out of bed, dragging Sammy with him, then marched down to this jackass Dr Roberts and demanded a solution. As it was, he could barely keep his eyes open and every intake of breath was a struggle. He tried to think of something to say to reassure Sam, whose big, sad eyes were breaking his damn heart, but all that came out was a plaintive and childish, 'But Dad can fix it right?'

To his horror, tears were suddenly burning in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks before he could even try to stop them. He hated this, hated himself, hated this whole situation, hated how he was putting all this on Sam. Sam had gone through six days of this crap all on his own, without Dean or Dad or anyone to watch out for him; he didn't need an emotional big brother turning into a flake on him now.

''M sorry, Sammy,' he said quietly, his eyes cast downward at the sheets, not quite able to look Sam in the eye, though he maintained his grip on his brother's wrist.

Sam frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. 'Sorry about what?' he asked.

'This.'

'It's not your fault, Dean,' Sam said kindly.

'Crash...my fault,' he mumbled sleepily, and he forced himself to stay awake just a little longer. Sam needed to hear this and Dean needed to say it.

'Dean, it wasn't,' Sam said gently. 'You weren't the one driving on the wrong side of the road, were you? It was that drunk guy's fault, not yours.'

'Supposed to protect...watch out...'

'But you did,' Sam insisted, and there was a kind of desperate plea to his voice now. 'You swerved the car out of the way, otherwise it would have been a head on collision and we probably both would have been killed, the other guy too.'

Dean couldn't stop himself from wincing at the harshness of Sam's words, then involuntarily hissed in pain as his muscles protested the action. 'You shouldn't...get hurt,' he forced out through gritted teeth.

'But I didn't!' Sam burst out. 'All I got was a sprained wrist that doesn't even hurt anymore and a few cuts that didn't even need stitches. You don't get it, Dean, you saved me!'

'I got you...in a...car crash.'

Sam continued as though Dean hadn't spoken. 'You put your arm out in front of me, the arm you broke in three places in case you hadn't noticed, and held me back. You stopped me from going forward and hitting the windshield. Like you did,' he added quietly.

The long cut on Dean's forehead suddenly stung sharply, as though Sam's words had reminded it to be sore. He closed his eyes against the pain and found himself drifting off, too tired to fight off the promise of oncoming oblivion. He felt his grip on Sam's wrist weaken and was dimly aware of blankets being fixed around him, and the sound of Sam's muffled voice as though he was very far away.

'You did protect me, Dean, you always have and you always will, right? Well now it's your turn to have everyone looking after you so you can get better. Just stop worrying about me and concentrate on yourself for a change, ok?'

'Yeah...right,' Dean mumbled vaguely.

He couldn't open his eyes to see it, but he could hear the hint of a laugh in Sam's voice as he spoke. 'At least you're sounding like your old self again, dude.' Dean felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, accompanied with a soft, 'Night, Dean.'

Dean tried to reciprocate, like he did every night, but all that came out was a vague sort of indistinct mumbling as he finally allowed the comforting darkness to envelope him completely.

In spite of everything, Sam watched his brother fall asleep with a small smile; comforted by Dean's asleep, rather than unconscious, form. He felt his own eyes closing, though with the reappearance of Dad that afternoon, he thought he'd be up all night, waiting for Dad to fulfil his promise and fix everything. He was more comforted by Dean waking up and finally having his big brother's presence back in his life than another of Dad's vague promises. Sam shifted in his chair, allowing the steady beeping of Dean's heart monitor to lull him to sleep. It really was amazing how the reassurance that Dean was going to be ok could make his hard plastic chair feel extremely comfortable...


	7. Chapter 7

Five minutes; that was how long they were letting him see the boys for. Hours of negotiation with grim faced doctors, phone calls with interfering busybodies from Child Services with the promise of more of the same tomorrow, and five minutes was all he could wangle. John was used to getting what he wanted and needed in situations like these, hell, flash people an FBI badge and they'd tell you anything. Today, however, he'd been utterly helpless and powerless, listening to that jackass Dr Roberts talking about how his own sons were no longer in his care. Every time he'd attempted to argue his case or retaliate in any way, he'd been met with a series of silent, patronising glares.

He supposed he was meant to be grateful for getting five minutes with Sam and Dean, Dr Roberts had acted like he was bestowing some great favour upon him, but John wasn't about to get down on his knees and grovel. These were his sons they were talking about and he deserved to see them, he needed to see them and make sure they were alright. For the thirty seconds John had seen him that afternoon, Sam had seemed like a shadow of his usual self, and John had gone weak at the knees as the details of Dean's condition were revealed to him. As the seemingly endless negotiations had raged on all afternoon, John kept imagining the car crash that had landed his boys in the hospital. The image of the wrecked Impala coupled with Dr Roberts' details created a nightmarish picture that John just couldn't shake.

It was evening before John was finally excused, feeling like a school kid leaving the principal's office. To his annoyance, Dr Roberts insisted on accompanying him to Dean's room, though John was perfectly capable of going himself, had the doctor cared to tell him the way. John had navigated his way through more than his fair share of hospitals over the years after all.

It was with an ill grace that John set off down the corridor with Dr Roberts hovering by his side. He just hoped the doctor didn't try and speak with him; John was in absolutely no mood to speak with him and anything he wanted to say would probably get him escorted out of the building. If Dr Roberts was a smart man, then he'd keep his pie hole shut.

Dr Roberts, it seemed, was not a smart man. John didn't have great faith in his medical skills if his common sense was anything to go by.

'We're on the same side, you know,' the doctors said quietly, holding a door open for John then following him through.

'Oh yeah?' John resisted the urge to raise his voice, but it was a supreme effort.

'Yes. We both want what's best for Sam and Dean, don't we?'

There was a questioning tone to the doctor's voice that John didn't like one bit. 'Of course I want what's best for them,' he replied, and instead of shouting, his voice had become a kind of harsh whisper. 'They're my sons. I'm their Dad. You think I don't want what's best for my own kids?'

'I'm not saying that at all, Mr Winchester,' Dr Roberts hastily cut in.

'Then what are you saying?' John snapped, unable to hold back the retort.

'I just wanted to let you know that I'm trying to do what's best for them too, ok?'

'And taking them away from their dad, that's the best thing, is it?'

'Mr Winchester,' Dr Roberts sighed heavily, roughly raking a hand through his thinning hair, 'I'm not the bad guy here.'

'So I am?' John asked angrily, rounding on the doctor, his hands automatically tightening into fists, though he kept them deep in his pockets.

'No, of course not,' Dr Roberts said hastily. 'Just forget I said anything and you can start in on me again at the meeting tomorrow, alright?'

John was about to let the doctor know that he planned to tear him a new one at the goddamn meeting tomorrow when the sight in front of him stopped him in his tracks. They'd stopped at a closed door with a neatly lettered sign reading _Dean Winchester_. There was something about seeing his son's name there, as bold as brass, that suddenly made the whole situation real, like it had all been some kind of mistake up to now. John hated hospitals and he hated hospital rooms and hospital beds, but he needed to forget about all that and get to his kids. He definitely owed them that.

He'd just reached out a hand to push the door open when Dr Roberts' arm stopped his progress.

'You're not coming in with me, are you?' John asked, wondering how he was supposed to have a proper conversation with his boys if that was the case.

'No,' Dr Roberts replied, much to John's relief. 'I will be waiting outside though,' he added.

John scowled. 'It's not like I'm going to run away with them,' he muttered.

'I know you aren't,' came the serious reply.

John's scowl deepened. 'And I can tell the time myself, you know.'

'I'm sure you can.'

'So are you going to let me in or not?' John snapped, sounding so much like Sammy in one of his moods that he almost smiled. All he needed was an exaggerated roll of the eyes and a dramatic sweep of the hair to complete the resemblance.

'I just thought I'd update you on Dean's condition first.'

'Well?' John knew he sounded impatient, but he was way beyond the point of caring. Dr Roberts had left the meeting halfway through after receiving an urgent message, then returned with the news that Dean had woken up. John still hadn't been allowed to see him then.

'As you know, Dean properly woke up for the first time this afternoon, and we carried out a series of tests, measuring his levels of brain activity and so on. Fortunately, apart from disorientation and a few slight lapses in his memory, Dean's brain won't suffer any long term effects from the accident.'

John saw something like a smile on the doctor's face and felt it mirrored in his own expression.

'When he was first brought in, I was expecting brain damage, amnesia at the very least. I thought for sure he was exhibiting early signs of cerebral edema.'

The doctor's frank confession was sobering; all traces of a smile were wiped from both their faces. For John, it came as another dark reminder of how close he had come to losing his eldest son in every sense of the word.

'He's going to be ok now, isn't he?' John couldn't help but ask, and he hated how quiet and needy he sounded.

For a second or two, he saw a flash of pity in the doctor's eyes, but then again, they were talking about Dean now; _he _hadn't done anything wrong. 'Dean is still a very sick young man,' Dr Roberts said quietly, and there was a softness to his voice now that John hadn't previously heard. 'He'll need a long time to recover, and a lot of physical and respiratory therapy to get him back to the shape he was in before the crash.'

'But he will get better?'

'With time, yes, and with the proper care and attention.'

John nodded, swallowing hard. _Proper care and attention_ that apparently, he was incapable of giving his own son.

Dr Roberts eyed him carefully. 'Five minutes,' he said warningly, pushing the door open.

'Five minutes,' John repeated through clenched teeth, closing the door behind him and making sure the doctor stayed firmly on the other side.

Quiet. That was the first thing he noticed, how unnaturally quiet it was, and he thought there must have been some mistake, because his boys were never this quiet when they were together. Then he realised the obvious; they were both asleep. Stupid doctors making him wait so long to see them.

Sam was curled up in a chair, his arms and legs so tightly folded that he couldn't possibly be comfortable. His chin rested on his chest, his long bangs fell into his eyes; he was clearly out for the count. John briefly debated waking him up, but decided against it. It didn't look like Sam had been sleeping all that well lately and besides, he didn't even stir at the hand John laid on his shoulder.

'Night, Sammy,' he whispered, shrugging off his own jacket and tucking it round hiss youngest son.

Sam sighed and shifted a little, pulling John's jacket round him, but he didn't wake up. Satisfied that Sam was ok, at least as ok as this situation would allow, John instead turned his attention to his eldest son.

'Holy shit, Dean,' he whispered, his hand leaving Sam's shoulder as he went to Dean's bedside.

It wasn't until that very moment that John realised just how lucky they were that neither of his sons had ended up in a hospital bed before now. It was kind of a miracle, really, given their particular lifestyle, but John had never appreciated how lucky he'd been to have his kids healthy and safe. There'd been too many concussions and more broken bones than he could count, and John could stitch up wounds without batting an eyelid, but this? This was something new entirely and John wasn't sure how to deal with it.

There wasn't an inch of Dean's body that didn't look painful, and John just hoped they were giving him enough medication. They were pumping enough into him anyway. John sank into an empty chair by the bed, trying to ignore the wires and tube and tape that seemed to be holding his son together. Even without the bandages and the metal leg brace, John found it hard to reconcile the injured boy in the bed with his eldest son. Dean was never like this, not even when he was asleep; he always lay with all his muscles tensed, one arm under his pillow and the other outstretched towards Sam in the other bed. Dean never lay flat on his back, pale and still, and helpless and vulnerable.

For the second time that day, John was reminded, with a force that could have knocked him off his feet, of that night. It might have been 1983 all over again, he might just have walked into Sammy's nursery, after hearing a scream, not sure what he would find. Sammy was still Sammy, small and young and right in the middle of everything but somehow, miraculously, ok. And Dean...in Dean, he saw Mary all over again, and just like Mary, Dean had needed John to save him, and he hadn't been there.

To his surprise, Dean's eyes fluttered open, and there were Mary's eyes blinking at him all over again. He could practically feel the heat of the fire and smell the smoke as it filled the tiny room.

'Hey, Dean,' John said softly, not sure whether his son was really awake or not.

Those familiar green eyes, their brightness dulled somehow, continued to blink sleepily up at him, and John held his breath, waiting to see some spark of recognition in his son's eyes. After a moment or two, Dean's eyelids slid shut again, and John couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. He'd needed to apologise to Dean, or try to at least. He'd missed his chance with Sammy that afternoon, but he'd wanted to speak with Dean -

'Sam?'

The sound of Dean's voice, weak and quiet but still unmistakably _Dean,_ startled John, but he shouldn't have been surprised at what he said. It had been the first thing Dean had said after Mary had died, after not speaking a single word for almost a month. Through the haze of his own grief, John had started to worry that he'd lost his son as well as his wife when, of course, it had been Sammy who'd brought Dean back. John would never forget that night; little as he was, Sammy had a powerful set of lungs on him and nothing John could do that night would stop him crying. John had been at his wit's end, having no clue what to do to comfort his baby son. Dean, who'd been sitting in silence, watching a TV that wasn't even switched on, had suddenly looked up, his eyes wide and alert for the first time in weeks.

'Sam?' he'd whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse from lack of use.

John had watched in disbelief as Dean had jumped up from the couch and all but sprinted over to him. Dean had, with a gentleness and an expertise that far exceeded his four years, taken the wriggling Sammy from John's arms. Sammy, of course, had stopped crying the second Dean took him, and Dean hadn't stopped looking out for his little brother since. It figured he would still be doing it, even now.

'No, son, it's me, your dad,' John answered, feeling a very poor second to his youngest son in that moment. He cast a quick look over at Sam who was still sound asleep. 'Sam's here too,' he said quickly, knowing how Dean's protective instincts would still be functioning, despite the hospital bed. 'And he's absolutely fine, we both are, it's just you that we're worried about.'

''Kay.' Dean's eyes remained closed and he seemed to relax a little. John was sure he had fallen back asleep when he spoke again. 'Dad?'

'Yeah, Dean?'

'You're here?'

John smiled, though he could feel the prick of tears in his eyes for the first time in years. 'Yeah, kid, I'm here.'

'You weren't.'

John was silent for a moment, wondering just how the hell he was supposed to respond to that. It was a simple little statement, delivered in that slurred and slow speech, but it was completely true. John _hadn't _ been there, and now both his sons had called him out on it.

'I'm here now,' John said at last, uncomfortable with the slightly pleading tone to his voice.

Dean opened one eye and turned his head very slightly towards his father. 'Should have...been.'

John frowned slightly as Dean closed both eyes once again. It wasn't like his eldest son to speak so frankly to him and he attributed it to the pain killers and medication. It was the same whenever Dean had a fever; sometimes that was the only time the kid would reveal how he was really feeling and what was really going on.

'I know, Dean, I know I should have, and I'm sorry.'

'Don't need...'

'I do need to apologise,' John said firmly, filling in the rest of Dean's sentence when a loud cough cut him off. 'I should have been here when you two needed me, and for that, I'm sorry.'

'It's...ok,' Dean said slowly, his speech punctuated with heavy and laboured breathing.

'No, Dean, it's not ok,' John replied, a little more forcefully than he had intended. 'This is so beyond ok. Look at the condition you're in!'

'Sammy okay?'

'Sam's fine, Dean,' John sighed heavily, noting how even in his injured and disorientated state, Dean was still able to deflect attention away from himself and towards Sam instead.

'You...get S-Sam...back.'

John frowned again, trying to understand Dean's increasingly slurred and indistinct speech, before it clicked into place. 'Of course I'm going to get Sam back,' he said quietly. 'I'm going to fight this and I'm going to get _both_ of you back.'

'Don't...don't...le them...' Dean's speech was cut off by a loud and painful sounding cough, and John moved closer to the bed.

'It's ok, son,' John said, in what he hoped was a comforting and soothing tone. 'Just relax, Dean, it's ok. Just breathe through it.'

John vaguely remembered years and years ago, when Dean was very small and he'd been sick with a bad cough. John remembered coming home late from work one night to find Mary kneeling beside Dean's bed. With one hand, she held the tiny three year old Dean up and with the other, she'd rubbed his back, all the while whispering encouragement or maybe singing that Beatles song she loved. John knew he ought to be doing something like that now, but how could he? A loud knock on the door told him that his allocated time with the boys was almost up, and besides, he was terrified of hurting Dean.

The only part of Dean that John felt he could touch without hurting him was his left hand, provided he was wary of the IV, of course. He took his son's hand, hoping the contact would comfort him and that the unfamiliarity of it wouldn't completely shock him. To his surprise, Dean's fingers tightened round John's as a particularly loud cough made itself known. It greatly discomfited John; either Dean was completely off his head on pain killers, or he was in even more pain that John knew. It had been years, probably since before Mary had died, since John had felt his eldest son's hand in his.

'You're ok, Dean,' John found himself whispering. 'You're going to be ok, I promise, it's all going to be ok. I'm right here and Sam's right here too.'

Dan coughed again, louder and harder this time, and the tight grip he had on his father's hand became almost convulsive. The sound seemed to rouse Sam, who shifted a little in his chair. John could hear movement outside the room and he knew he had to get a doctor for Dean. Dr Roberts hadn't mentioned anything about the coughing, and John knew it went beyond the broken ribs. It sounded worse, much worse; John was obviously no doctor, but the thought of infection suddenly occurred to him. Dean couldn't be getting worse, could he?

'I'm going to get a doctor,' John said hastily, his mind made up in an instant as Dean coughed again. 'I'll be right back.'

'Dad?' Dean mumbled in between bouts of coughing. 'What-'

'Don't talk, Dean, I'll be right back.'

'What's going on?' came Sam's voice from the corner. Sam rubbed his eyes, pushing his hair off his face, then, seeing what was happening, he ran to John's side in an instant, all traces of sleepiness gone. 'Dad? When did you get here?' His eyes fell upon Dean who tried, and failed, to stifle another cough. 'Dean? What's going on?'

'I'm going to get a doctor,' John said again, deciding it was the best answer he could give right now. He gently disentangled his hand from Dean's.

'Dad...don't...' Dean whispered through a cough. 'Don't l-leave...'

'I'll be right back,' John frowned. 'I promise.'

'No...D-Dad...'

Then, he wasn't exactly sure what happened, but Dean seemed to move, like he was trying to hold John back and had forgotten the injuries that were keeping him in bed. Then machines were beeping loudly and Dean slumped back onto the bed, and the door was suddenly open, bringing Dr Roberts back into their midst.

'What's going on?' Sam asked again, his voice wavering. He tried to get closer to the bed, but John caught him and held him back just in time. A small team had followed Dr Roberts into the room and they crowded the bed, blocking Dean from view. 'What did you do?' Sam shouted, his cheeks blazing and his face screwed up in anger.

'I didn't-' was all John managed to get out before Dr Roberts' voice silenced him.

'No pulse. He's not breathing.'

'He's not breathing?' John and Sam repeated in unison and John could actually see the colour leaving Sam's face.

'B-but he was...fine,' Sam whispered, swaying where he stood.

'Get him out of here!' someone barked in John's direction.

John wasn't sure whether this was directed at him or at Sam but he correctly assumed that Sam wasn't able to stand upright much longer. A steadying hand under the elbow wasn't going to cut it; John bundled Sammy up in his arms and carried him out of the room. as the door swung shut behind them, John deposited Sam in one of the plastic chairs by the nurse's station and pushed his head down between his knees.

'What's happening?' Sam mumbled indistinctly, attempting to sit up.

With a firm hand on Sam's back to keep his head down, John listened hard, straining to hear what was happening behind the closed door. He slid down into the seat beside Sam as he heard the undisguised sobs of his youngest son.

'I don't get it,' Sam whispered as John helped him to sit up. 'He was fine and awake and he was talking and he was _Dean_...' Sam trailed off, sniffing loudly as he roughly dragged the back of his hand across his streaming eyes. 'He was fine,' Sam repeated, his voice a little stronger.

John muttered something vague about letting the doctors do their work and extended an arm round Sam's shoulders, pulling him close. He tried not to mind when Sam stiffened and stood up, shrugging John's arm off in one swift motion.

'What if he's dying?' Sam shot at John, his voice as sharp as John had ever heard it. 'Dean was getting better, he was good until you showed up!'

'Sam...' John trailed off, running his hands through his hair as he tried to think of a response. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Maybe Dr Roberts and his cronies were right, maybe he wasn't the best person to look after his own kids. But Dean couldn't be dying, the very idea was inconceivable. Kids weren't supposed to die before their fathers...

John wanted to rage and shout and cry like Sam but he knew he had to be strong for both of them, and for Dean too. He remained seated, watching Sam pace up and down the corridor, and knowing that there was nothing he could do to placate the scared, angry kid in front of him. His hands twitched as he shifted restlessly in his chair, longing to be able to help. John was used to fending for himself and the boys; being on the wrong side of the closed door while strangers tried to save his son's life was...unsettling to say the least. He almost wished that if Dean had to be hurt at all, that it could have happened on a hunt. At least then John could take charge of the situation, and he had to admit that it would feel good to behead some vamps right about now.

It might have been ten minutes or ten hours when the door to Dean's room opened and Dr Roberts came hurrying over to John, looking harried and at least ten years older. John could empathise with him at that point at least. John jumped to his feet and Sam was back by his side in an instant.

'Well?' they asked, speaking at the same time in that same demanding tone.

'We've managed to stabilise him,' Dr Roberts said quickly.

Sam's legs seemed to give out beneath him and he sank into the chair John had just vacated. John absentmindedly dropped a hand onto his shoulder and was relieved when Sam didn't immediately throw if off.

'Dean's...alive?' Sam whispered.

'Yes, he's alive,' the doctor confirmed.

Sam's 'Thank God' was mingled with John's 'What the hell just happened there?'

'I believe it was a combination of a few contributing factors,' Dr Roberts replied coolly.

'Such as?' John honestly didn't mean to sound so hard but he wasn't exactly at his best right now.

'Well, given his weakened condition, Dean's immune system is down and he's highly susceptible to infection right now. Unfortunately, he has now caught an infection in his lungs and that's what's causing the coughing, coupled with the previous damage to his ribs and lungs of course.'

'And it was the coughing that made him stop...' Sam stopped, clearly unable to finish the sentence.

'Breathing,' Dr Roberts finished, and Sam flinched. 'Partly, yes.'

'Partly?' John repeated, wondering if this doctor was ever in the way of giving straightforward good news.

'That certainly contributed,' Dr Roberts frowned, his tone grave. 'Did Dean try to move at all when you were in the room, Mr Winchester?'

Jon hadn't expected to be the one getting interrogated in this situation. 'Well, he was talking and he moved his head a little, then he was coughing and I was going to get someone and he...Well, it looked like he was trying to hold me back or something.'

'I see.' Dr Roberts was frowning again. 'And this was when he was experiencing difficulties breathing?'

'He was ok at first,' John said quietly. 'But then the coughing and the breathing got worse as he got more, uh, agitated.'

'Agitated? How so?'

John was very aware that Sam's eyes were now locked on him as well, eagerly waiting to hear why his father had made his brother so agitated.

'He kept asking about Sam,' John began and he noticed that Sam immediately looked down at the floor. 'He was worried about Sam and he was adamant that I had to get Sam back.'

Now it was Dr Roberts' turn to look shiftily at the floor. 'Yes, well...' he began, determinedly not looking either John or Sam in the eye.

'Then he asked me not to leave,' John said quietly, hearing a twinge of guilt in his own voice now too.

Dr Roberts' frowned deepened, if possible, even further.

'What does it mean?' Sam asked, slowly raising his head to look at the doctor.

'Well, it seems to me that Dean had a, well, a panic attack of sorts,' Dr Roberts replied. 'He panicked at the prospect of your dad leaving and his body went into shock. In addition to his breathing difficulties and the pain that moving unaided would have caused him, this was enough to send him into respiratory arrest.'

'But he's going to be ok now, right?' Sam asked, putting into words what John was still trying to process.

'In time,' Dr Roberts said, not unkindly. 'I will admit that these recent developments have pushed his recovery back a bit and we'll have to make a couple of changes in Dean's care.'

'Like what?' John had found his voice again.

'Dean's going to be on stronger antibiotics to lower his temperature and fight the infection,' the doctor explained. 'And we've decided that it's in Dean's best interests to hook him back up to the ventilator, at least through the night and then we can assess the situation again in the morning. In order to keep him as comfortable as possible, I've had to increase the sedation-'

'So you've knocked him out?' Sam asked, his eyes wide and his bottom lip trembling slightly.

Dr Roberts looked hesitant to answer. 'It's just like he's-'

'Sleeping,' Sam finished for him and the kid looked downright mutinous. 'Yeah, I know.'

'You've basically put Dean in a coma, is that right?' John couldn't help but ask and Sam threw a reproachful look in his direction.

Again, Dr Roberts seemed in no hurry to provide an answer. 'Medically induced,' he said at last, placing heavy emphasis on the two words. 'He'll be carefully monitored. It's the best option for him right now; the vent is extremely uncomfortable and Dean really doesn't need to be in any more pain at the minute.'

That, at last, was something that John, Sam and Dr Roberts could all agree on.

'But what if he moves again?' Sam asked, and John was surprised at how calm and quiet he sounded, given the situation. 'Even with all the sedatives and stuff, I mean, Dean can never sit still and he'll hate having the vent...He'll get hurt if he moves again, even when he's awake, right?'

'Right,' Dr Roberts confirmed. 'Without assistance, Dean really shouldn't be moving on his own right now, especially with that leg of his. As an extra precaution, therefore, he'll be restrained so that he won't get hurt.'

If Dr Roberts thought this would comfort or reassure the Winchesters in anyway, then he was gravely mistaken.

'He'll be _what_?' John shouted, making no effort to control his rapidly rising temper. Some rational part of his brain tried to reason that this was best for Dean and it was a good idea if it kept him free from pain. However, the image of his son tied down to the bed like he was some kind of criminal was one that he couldn't shake, and he loudly voiced it for the doctor to hear.

'Mr Winchester, do you want what's best for your son?' Dr Roberts snapped, his calm and professional manner slipping a little. 'For both your sons?' he added, casting a look in Sam's direction.

'What the hell kind of question is that?' John retorted, while Sam's eyes darted nervously between the two.

'It's a perfectly reasonable kind of question, Mr Winchester,' Dr Roberts replied, in an icily polite tone that almost put John over the edge.

'Of course I want what's best for my kids and I told you as much earlier. And let me tell you, Dr Roberts, that I don't appreciate you suggesting-'

Sam might have been watching a tennis match; in any other situation, his head rapidly moving from side to side might have looked comical, but this, as Dr Roberts hastily interrupted John, was definitely anything but comical.

'If you really want the best for Dean, then you'll understand that we're doing everything we can to aid his recovery. I'm sorry if you don't agree with it, but that's just the way it is. And if you really want what's best for both your sons, then you'll understand that I have to ask you to leave now. Your being here really hasn't had a very positive effect on the boys, has it?'

'If you're trying to make light of the fact that my son stopped _breathing_ tonight-'

'Not at all,' came the cold reply. 'Quite the opposite, in fact, which is why I need you to leave.'

'Fine,' John spat, breathing heavily through his nose. 'Fine! I guess I'll see you tomorrow at this meeting, huh?'

'You certainly will.'

'I look forward to it,' John all but snarled through gritted teeth. 'Let's get out of here, Sammy.'

John was so caught up in the immediate moment that he completely forgot that he no longer had the goddamn right to take his own son with him.

'Uh, Dad?' Sam stood up, though he remained standing by his chair, in the no-man's-land between his father and the doctor. 'I think I have to stay here, right?' He glanced sideways at Dr Roberts, who nodded in confirmation.

'Right,' John said flatly, with the bizarre feeling that he had just lost some great fight. 'Yeah, of course.'

'But you're coming back tomorrow, right?' All the earlier anger and hostility was gone in an instant and Sam's voice was suddenly painfully childish. Again, John was forcefully reminded of just how young both his kids were.

'Of course I am,' John said quickly, hating the panicked, pleading tone in his youngest son's voice.

'And you'll come see us?'

Dr Roberts looked ready to supply an answer to Sam's question, but John cut in quickly. 'I'll be back to see you just as soon as I can, ok?'

Sam nodded and sank back into his chair, pushing his long bangs out of his eyes. 'I'll make sure that nothing else happens to Dean,' he said after a moment, looking John right in the eye as he spoke.

John felt an overwhelming wave of sadness and regret wash over him at Sam's words. It wasn't supposed to be like this, it was the father's job to watch out for his kids. It shouldn't all fall on the shoulders of a twelve year old, or a sixteen year old for that matter. And now, as usual, John had to go and leave his kids alone. He just hoped that Dean would make it through the night ok and he found himself wondering if they'd even contact him if something did happen. He'd given them the number of the motel, but even so.

'Thanks, Sammy,' he said at last, hoping that he'd succeeded in keeping all traces of emotion out of his voice.

'It's _Sam_,' came the familiar complaint and John had to give the kid credit. Even after the events of tonight, and the past few days, Sam was trying to keep it together, to keep things as normal as possible. He really was a great kid, both his sons were, and they didn't deserve all the crap that was piled on them.

'I know it is, kiddo.' John smiled sadly, reaching out a hand to ruffle Sam's hair. He held his breath, waiting, but Sam didn't flinch or pull back. 'And I haven't forgotten that haircut either, young man.'

'Dad! It's fine, really.'

'Whatever you say, Sam.'

'Goodnight, Mr Winchester,' Dr Roberts cut in smoothly, startling both John and Sam, who might have gone on all night and forgotten that he was even there at all.

'Yeah, goodnight to you too, pal,' John muttered, not even sparing the doctor a glance. He crouched down in front of Sam's chair so they could speak face to face. 'Night, Sam,' he said quietly, not wanting Dr Roberts to hear. 'It's all going to be ok, I promise.'

'You better keep your promises, Dad,' Sam said flatly.

John was about to reassure Sam that of course he was coming to see them and of course he was going to get them back, when Dr Roberts tapped him on the shoulder. With remarkable restraint, John resisted the urge to punch the patronising jerk in the jaw, and stood up. Turning his back on the doctor completely, he grasped Sam's shoulder tightly for a moment before reluctantly letting him go.

John had never felt quite as alone as he did that evening, leaving the hospital and his sons behind. The prospect of another silent car journey was bad, but a silent motel room was even worse, and he knew he wouldn't be sleeping tonight. He was tired, exhausted actually, but he had too much to do, too much to think about. He had several phone calls to make, to Pastor Jim, to Bobby, and anyone else he could reach - anyone who could succeed where he'd failed and help Sam and Dean.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean was finding it hard to tell what was real and what wasn't, and the whole concept of time had become a complete mystery to him. All he knew was that sometimes Sam was there and sometimes he wasn't, sometimes it hurt and sometimes it didn't, and sometimes he could breathe and sometimes he couldn't. Every time he even tried to open his eyes or showed even the slightest signs of being awake, there were always unfamiliar voices telling him what was happening, as though by some miracle, he had managed to forget.

'You're in the hospital, Dean.'

_Really? I never would have guessed what with all the doctors and nurses._

'Don't try to speak just yet, ok?'

_Have you ever tried to speak with a damn tube shoved down your throat, lady?_

'Try not to panic, Dean, you're going to be fine.'

_Sweetheart, I can't feel a damn thing right now. You must have me on some pretty good meds, am I right?_

He liked it best when Sam was there because only then did things start to feel real. Sam's clear, familiar voice was able to cut through the fog in Dean's brain, and he could feel even remotely like himself again. When Sam was there, Dean had to make a greater effort, he just had to, regardless of how crap he was really feeling. When Sam trudged in from school, or from the hospital cafeteria, Dean forced himself to open his eyes, and keep them open, no matter how tired the simple act made him feel. When the stupid vent had been shoved back in, all he could do was listen to Sam's commentary on the day so far, only able to blink in response or vaguely raise his eyebrows if he was really lucky. He wasn't sure if Sammy caught all the expression and emotion he tried to put into each eyebrow raise, but he tried his best, and Sam continued speaking anyway.

When the vent was removed again after what seemed like forever (though in reality it was only a day and two nights) and exchanged for an oxygen cannula, Dean could finally start to speak again. Now, with the restraints removed, it had been frankly terrified waking up to find those but he was trying not to dwell on that, and the vent gone, Dean felt more like his old self than he'd done in a long time. The nurses had manoeuvred him into a sitting position and he was propped up by a lot of pillows. Dean was looking forward to speaking to Sammy properly when he returned from school, and was feeling almost impatient. They'd provided him with a TV for his entertainment but he felt too restless to watch anything and besides, he didn't want to fall asleep and miss Sam coming in.

Dean was exhausted by the time four o'clock rolled in, but he'd managed to stay awake for the longest period yet and he watched as Sam opened the door and dumped his backpack on the floor.

'Hey, Sammy,' he said, and he was pleased to find that his voice wasn't nearly as hoarse and quiet as he'd thought it would be.

'Hey, Dean,' Sam replied automatically, then he paused, one arm out of his jacket, and turned round to face the bed. Dean couldn't help but smile at the look on his face. 'Wait - what - you're awake properly, and sitting up, and the vent - it's gone!'

'Right on all accounts, genius,' Dean grinned, secretly proud of the length of the sentence he'd just managed to string together. True it was only five words, but he hadn't needed to pause for breath once.

Sam was practically grinning from ear to ear and looked just as pleased as Dean felt on the inside. 'Dean! You sound just like, well, _you, _I guess.'

'Who else do you want me to sound like? I guess I could try Scotty from Star Trek if you really wanted, but you know I suck at that accent.' Definitely more than five words that time and Dean only felt a tiny bit out of breath. Not to mention that it had practically been an eternity since he'd been able to make any kind of humorous remark, and it felt pretty good. Granted it wasn't one of his comedy greats but under the circumstances, it was freakin' hilarious and Sam's grin only served to confirm this.

'Sounding like you again is awesome, Dean.' Sam was practically gushing, but Dean decided to let him have his moment. He knew too well that there hadn't been much to gush about lately. 'I guess it's a good sign, huh?'

'I feel a hell of a lot better than the last time we, uh, spoke,' Dean said quickly, trying not to think about that confusing period of time. Dad had seemed to be there, and then breathing became impossible and a painful darkness had swallowed him up.

'Well, you sound a hell of a lot better too,' Sam replied equally as quickly, his smile slipping a little.

'I'll bet,' Dean tried for a jaunty, offhand tone of voice, but he wasn't quite sure that he completely pulled it off. 'So, uh, what happened?' he asked casually, as though he didn't really care what the answer would be.

'They didn't tell you anything?' Sam asked.

'You know doctors, Sam, medical school teaches them how to be deliberately vague and annoying,' Dean sighed, though he was glad that Sam actually smiled a little at that. 'So, Doogie Howser, what's the diagnosis?'

'Well, you had an infection, they said, which was why you were coughing and had a high temperature-'

'I thought I was just naturally hot,' Dean mock sighed and Sam ignored him, which made it feel like they were finally getting back to normal.

'_Anyway_, you were having trouble breathing and then you moved too much which made all your injuries hurt. You really weren't doing yourself any favours, Dean.'

'What can I say, Sammy? I enjoy living life on the edge. So that was it? I blacked out and they shoved that crappy tube down my throat again?'

'Not exactly.' Sam was doing that thing where his eyes went super wide and he bit his bottom lip.

'Come on, man, don't leave me hanging.'

'Dr Roberts said you had a panic attack, Dean,' Sam said quietly.

_A freakin' panic attack? Well that's just great._ 'So what, do I have to start carrying round a goddamn inhaler now or something?'

'No, I think it was only a one off thing,' Sam replied seriously.

'Well, thank God for that,' Dean muttered. 'So that...thing plus the infection plus the pain made me pass out? Great, just great.'

'Pass out,' Sam said quietly, 'and stop breathing.'

Dean stared at his little brother, horror struck.

'I stopped breathing,' he managed to say at last, 'again?'

Sam nodded, his expression sombre. 'Yeah,' he said, so quietly, that Dean had to strain to hear him. 'Yeah. That's like the third time, and your had no pulse, so please don't get any bright ideas of making it a habit.'

Dean gave a short, hollow laugh. 'Don't worry, Sammy, I promise I won't make forgetting to breathe one of my bad habits.'

'Good.' Sam sighed loudly as he carefully sat on the edge of the bed. 'Are you ok?'

'Me? I'm-'

'Don't even dare say that you're fine if you're not,' Sam warned with such a forceful glare that Dean felt momentarily wrong footed.

'Honestly, Sammy, I feel better than I have in ages,' he said, hoping to reassure the kid.

'But your arm, and your leg...' Sam trailed off, his eyes darting nervously between the plaster cast and the metal brace enclosing Dean's leg.

'Don't hurt,' Dean finished for him. It was only a little lie; they weren't sore so much as uncomfortable.

'So you really are feeling better?' Sam still seemed uncertain and he eyed Dean warily.

'Yes, Sammy,' Dean said firmly, 'and I'll be up and about in no time, don't you worry. Believe me, I can't wait to get out of this bed.'

Sam smiled, though Dean noticed that his little brother still hadn't fully relaxed yet. 'Were you scared, Dean?' he asked quietly.

'When?' Dean frowned.

'You know, when you had that...attack,' Sam muttered, not entirely looking Dean in the eye.

'Oh. That. Well, it's all kind of fuzzy,' Dean admitted. 'Those are some strong painkillers, dude. I was sort of asleep but awake at the same time, if you get me. I remember talking to you, and then you went away somewhere-'

'_You_ fell asleep,' Sam corrected.

'Same thing. Anyway, that's when it all gets messed up because I think I was dreaming that Dad was there-'

Sam interrupted again. 'Dad really was here.'

'He was?' Dean was surprised; he'd been almost certain that his fuzzy brain had made that part up.

'Yeah. I must have been asleep when he came in, but I woke up when you were coughing and Dad was going to get help. That's when you, uh, panicked and I think you told Dad not to leave. That's when you moved, because you were trying to hold Dad back or something, and you hurt yourself instead.'

Dean felt his cheeks blazing with embarrassment. If it was true what Sam said, and Dean had no reason to doubt him, then he would never live that down. He had basically stopped breathing because Dad had left his side? Granted these weren't normal circumstances by any means, but Dean still couldn't believe he'd gone to pieces like that, especially in front of Dad and Sammy, the two people in the world who depended on him to be strong and reliable. No way was Dean ever going to bring this up again and if anyone ever asked, then he was going to blame it all on the painkillers.

'So, speaking of Dad,' he said quickly, eager for a change of subject, 'what's going on?'

Sam hesitated, absently fiddling with a button on his shirt.

'Sammy?' Dean prompted, a little impatient for news.

'Well,' he said at last, 'if you can remember, that day you woke up was the first Dad had come in.'

'Yeah, I remember,' Dean said quickly. 'Go on.'

'Ok, ok. Well, he had a meeting with Dr Roberts and the Child Services people that day, and then again the next day, I think.'

'And what did they say?' Dean tried not to sound too impatient, but it was difficult being confined to a bed and not able to find out for himself.

'I didn't exactly get an invitation, Dean,' Sam said shortly. 'You know what they're like, they don't tell you anything even when it's your life.' Sam broke off, and Dean noticed that he was suddenly smiling a little mischievously. 'I have been listening around though,' he added, watching Dean eagerly for his reaction.

'That's my boy, Sammy!' Dean grinned. 'So you decided to split up and look for clues, what did you find?'

'Not a lot,' Sam admitted, 'everyone seems to magically stop talking whenever they see me.'

'Weird how that happens,' Dean commented wryly.

Sam raised his eyebrows. 'Yeah, I know, but I did hear someone talking about how they felt sorry for Dad but they thought we'd be better off without him.'

'But you've seen Dad?' Dean asked, completely dismissing that particular opinion.

Sam nodded. 'He's been in to see us, but you've always been out of it whenever he's been in.'

'Ok, Sam, I get the picture.'

'Drooling and twitching,' Sam grinned.

'Gee thanks, Sammy, way to kick a dude when he's down.'

'Just telling it like it is, Dean.'

'It's nice to see that you don't mind mocking your poor, frail brother.'

'I'm just taking advantage of the fact that you can't get up and kick my ass.'

The kid's smile was infectious and Dean was grinning as he spoke. 'Joke's on you, Sammy. This leg brace is the ultimate ass kicking weapon.'

Sam laughed, but his eyes were faraway and the smile quickly died from his face.

'Sam?' Dean said quietly. 'What is it?'

'Child Services have been in again,' Sam answered, and there was a definite edge of worry to his voice now. 'I try and dodge them whenever I can, but then Dr Roberts comes to see me...' he trailed off, sighing heavily. 'They keep talking about this foster family I'm supposed to go and stay with, and I've managed to get out of it so far. I just said that I didn't want to leave you while you were so sick. But now I'm scared that, because you're doing better, they won't buy that excuse anymore.'

'I'm surprised at you, Sammy; using the 'my brother is potentially dying so that's why I don't want to see this crappy foster family' card?'

'It's not funny, Dean,' Sam muttered, looking more than a little stung by Dean's reaction, or rather, his lack of a reaction.

'Woah, dude,' Dean said quickly, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Sam's expression instantly softened, or maybe it was Dean struggling to lift his heavy, cast covered arm that made Dam take pity on him.

'It's going to be ok,' Dean said quietly, hoping to placate his little brother. 'Like you said, I'm doing better, so I'll bet these sons of bitches will want to speak with me too, right?'

Sam was frowning slightly, but he nodded in response.

'Right. So I can talk to them, let them know how it is and how you aren't going anywhere without me. If I really needed to I could use the 'I was potentially dying like a days so you have to let my little brother stay by my sickbed' card. Then you'd be standing by, ready to flash them the old Sammy Winchester puppy dog eyes, and we'd have them doing what we wanted in no time.' Dean paused, glad to see something like a smile back on Sam's face. 'Then again,' he mused, 'if it was a lady we had to speak to then I'm sure I could work a little magic of my own.'

Sam actually laughed aloud at that one. 'Even while you're stuck in a bed hooked up to a heart monitor and an oxygen machine?' he teased.

'Especially then. Chicks dig the whole injured soldier vibe, dude.'

Dean broke off, unable to stop a small smile spreading over his face as Sam laughed. He missed hearing Sammy laugh and he was glad that he was able to shift that dark, troubled look from his face.

But the reprieve didn't last for very long, and Sam was soon looking worried again.

'But Dad-'

Dean forestalled him before Sammy could work himself up into a real panic. That, Dean thought bitterly, was apparently his job these days.

'Listen,' he said firmly as Sam gazed at him with those big, doleful eyes. 'You know Dad's going to be doing all he can to get us back, don't you?'

'I guess,' Sam sounded uncertain and he was fidgeting absently with his shirt button again instead of looking Dean in the eye.

'Well, I'm not guessing. I know for certain, ok?' There was a touch of the old authority to Dean's voice now and Sam looked up sharply in surprise at the sound. Dean hoped he could succeed in letting his little brother know that he was back now and he was going to take charge and Sammy didn't have to worry anymore.

'Ok,' Sam blurted out, almost involuntarily.

'Glad to have you onboard,' Dean said seriously, though he was smiling a little 'Now, have you ever know our Dad to lose any kind of argument? I mean, even your usually fail safe kicked puppy look is no match for the man.'

Sam considered this for a moment. 'True,' he mused thoughtfully. Then his face clouded over again. 'But you didn't seem him with Dr Roberts, Dean!' he insisted.

'I'm kind of looking forward to speaking with this doctor myself,' Dean muttered darkly, thinking he had a few choice words in mind that he was eager to employ.

'But-'

Dean cut him off again and Sam fell silent, anxiously biting his bottom lip. 'You know Dad,' he said quietly, though his tone was firm and unwavering, 'and you know he isn't going to take something like this lying down. He's going to be giving this everything he's got and he's going to get us back. You really think Dad would willingly just leave us behind and go off on his own?'

Dean broke off as, with a horrible jolt to the stomach, he realised that was exactly what dad had done, Sam had obviously noticed it too. He opened his mouth to speak but Dean cut in quickly before Sam could point it out.

'That was different,' he insisted, though Sam didn't look convinced. 'Of course it was different. That was, you know, the job. Dad couldn't help it.'

Sam rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, right. The job,' he said, with a harsh, bitter tone to his voice that Dean didn't like one bit. 'You know I sometimes think he cares more about hunting than he does about us.'

'Sam, that's enough,' Dean warned, but Sam paid no attention.

'Dean, you've heard him,' Sam continued, a furious blaze creeping into his cheeks. 'He's always spouting that crap about saving people and hunting things-'

'The family business,' Dean finished for him. 'Family, Sam, _family._ Family has always been Dad's number one priority and you know that as well as I do.'

'If that really was his priority, then he wouldn't leave us alone so much,' Sam muttered sullenly, folding his arms across his chest.

Dean just about refrained from rolling his eyes. He really wasn't up to a full scale Sammy sulk right now. 'Sammy,' he said gently, 'you know why Dad does what he does.'

'Yeah, I know,' Sam admitted grudgingly, his arms still tightly folded. 'Still doesn't mean I have to like it,' he added.

Dean raised his eyebrows. 'You're telling me, kid.'

Sam smiled, but it was a false, hollow sort of smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Dean hated seeing that look on his little brother's face. It was, after all, his job to appear brave and strong and mask ay signs of weakness, not Sam's. He realised that he'd actually prefer Sam to be yelling or scowling rather than this.

'You really think he can do it, Dean?' Sam whispered. His voice was so quiet and vulnerable that Dean knew, right there and then that he'd do anything to stop his brother from ever sounding like that again.

'Of course he can,' Dean replied quickly, with a confident bravado that he certainly didn't feel, for Sammy's sake.

'And if he doesn't...' Sam trailed off, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

'Then you'll still have me,' Dean said simply.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, simply nodding his head instead. 'I think I'm going to do my homework now,' he said quietly, turning his back on Dean to retrieve his discarded backpack.

'Ok, Sammy.'

Dean watched Sam pull a heavy textbook from his backpack and settle down in the chair beside the bed, the hefty volume completely obscuring his face.

'I mean it, you know,' Dean said, after watching Sam read for a few minutes.

'Mean what?' Sam asked absently, not looking up from the paragraph he was reading.

'I mean it that you'll still have me.'

Sam lowered his book, frowning slightly. 'I know you do.'

'No, I really mean it, like _really._ If they try and take you to some dumb foster family, then I'll come get you. Even if I have to crawl on my hands and knees and drag you back by your stupid girly hair, I promise I'll be there.'

'Really?' Sam raised his eyebrows, smirking over the top of his book.

'Really. At least it would get me out of this bed and give me something to do.'

'You know, if you're really that bored, I could go see your teachers and get you your own homework,' Sam offered, eyes now firmly back on his book.

Dean snorted derisively. 'How am I supposed to write with my arm like this?' he asked, indicating the heavy plaster cast.

'Oh yeah,' Sam said vaguely.

'I think I'll leave the homework to my trusty sidekick, Geek Boy,' Dean grinned.

Sam frowned, putting his book aside again. 'But you were actually doing your homework here, Dean. You said you liked school-'

'I said it wasn't that bad,' Dean corrected, but Sam ignored him.

'You should keep it up, Dean. You could do really well if you tried.'

'Jeez, Sammy, when did you become my guidance counsellor?'

'I'm being serious,' Sam insisted.

'And so am I. I've already missed what, over a week? And I have no idea how long Dr Jackass is going to keep me here, so how am I supposed to get caught up, huh?'

'I could go see your teachers for you?'

'Let me have a little break, Sammy! There has to be some perks to this whole hospital thing, right? Especially since I haven't seen one single hot nurse yet.'

'Whatever you say,' Sam shrugged, returning to his book.

Dean watched him read again, glad that Sam had decided to drop the subject. He didn't know how to explain to Sam that he had more important things to worry about right now than his homework. Dean was worried, scared even, about what was going to happen, even if he pretended otherwise to Sam. They'd had a couple of close calls with Child Services in the past, but they'd always managed to dodge the bullet. Dean was always on hand to explain that their Dad worked late and _that_ was why the motel manager hadn't seen him in a few days, while Sam nodded fervently in agreement. They'd always managed to talk themselves out if it because Dean could think on his feet faster than most people. But this time, that wasn't going to work.

_And whose fault is that?_

Dean knew that, technically, the actual crash wasn't his fault, but if he had listened to Dad, and Sammy for that matter, then they wouldn't have been on the road at all. If he had just followed Dad's orders then none of this would have happened. Some quiet little voice in the back of his head protested that an accident could have happened anytime, like when they were driving to school, but he ignored it. Dad had said just to go straight to and from school, and to keep a low profile. Well, Dean had failed miserably on all accounts and now he was being punished for it. It just wasn't fair that Sammy had to suffer too.

A knock on the door startled them both; Sam jumped and Dean would have done the same had he been able. Even so, the limited movement jarred his ribs and he let out an involuntary hiss of pain.

'Are you ok?' Sam asked at once.

'I'm fine,' Dean forced out through gritted teeth, trying to get comfortable again. 'Come in!' he added as there came another knock on the door.

A nurse who was vaguely familiar to Dean from those fuzzy days on the vent entered the room. He was sure she'd introduced herself plenty of time but he'd been calling her Nurse Ratched in his head whenever he could form coherent thoughts. She was the one who gave out the meds, what else was he supposed to call her?

'Time for your next dose of pain meds,' she said, in that annoying singsong voice.

Sam watched, with a kind of morbid fascination, as the pain relief was administered through the IV, though Dean shut his eyes and stiffened, feeling like a little kid getting a shot. It wasn't that it hurt exactly. though the back of his hand where the IV went in was itchy as hell, but he hated the way the meds made him feel. Sure they stopped him from being in pain, but they made him feel slow and stupid and eventually put him right to sleep. He really needed to have his wits about him and he decided that he really needed to stop taking them if he wanted the ability to think straight.

'How are you feeling, Dean?' Nurse Ratched asked, adjusting the IV.

'Peachy,' he answered somewhat truthfully.

'Well, if you can stay awake for a bit longer, there are some visitors waiting to see you boys,' she said, fixing the pillows.

'Visitors?' Sam and Dean said in unison, the textbook abandoned again and all thoughts of sleepiness gone from Dean's mind.

'Who is it?' Sam asked almost fearfully, his eyes nervously darting to Dean.

Dean hoped it wasn't going to be one of those jerks from Child Services, especially since he'd just received his meds. He really wasn't up to dealing with them right now.

'If you're too sleepy, then I can ask them to come back later?' the nurse offered.

'Who is it?' Dean brushed off her concern and repeated Sam's words.

'Just some representatives from the church who are interested in your case.'

'We don't want to see them,' Sam blurted out at once, but Dean was silent, thinking. Church, huh?

The nurse looked at Dean for confirmation.

'Tell them to come in.'

'Dean!' Sam was aghast, watching the nurse leave.

'Sam, it's ok, I think we're going to want to see these guys.'

Sam frowned, but didn't argue, and watched the door intently. Dean just hoped he was right; if it really was just some normal church dudes, then they were well and truly screwed...

Dean didn't need the sight of the two familiar men in the doorway to tell him he was right since Sam's joyful exclamation did the trick. He found that he was grinning, feeling like something was finally going right.

'Well, Sammy, would you look at that. The cavalry has arrived.'


	9. Chapter 9

Over the course of his long, though maybe not illustrious career, Bobby Singer was often required to impersonate someone else in order to get information that a scruffy mechanic wasn't normally privy to. He'd posed as too many FBI agents to count, and that was usually more than enough, but once or twice, he'd donned clerical garb, all in the line of duty of course. It never made him feel particularly easy, there was something about pretending to be a man of the cloth that just wasn't nice. As it was, Bobby only broke out the holy Joe get-up when it was absolutely necessary. A good suit and a convincing FBI badge normally did the trick but sometimes, folk just responded better to the black and white collar.

This, apparently, was one of those times.

He hadn't planned on it. Bobby's intentions had been to head straight to the hospital two states over, speak to John Winchester in person and find out just what the hell was going on. A phone call from Jim Murphy had revealed he was planning to do the same thing, and their plan had evolved from there. Well, their plan to get into the hospital and talk to John and the boys, anyway. He honestly didn't know what was going to happen after that, but he was determined to help in whatever way he could.

Bobby met Jim in the hospital parking lot and together they made their way into the ugly concrete building, heading straight for the information desk. Bobby hung back, letting Pastor Jim do the talking; this was his day job after all, the 'pastor' in front of his name was genuine. A short explanation, a warm smile and in no time at all, they had been pointed in the right direction to see the Winchester boys.

They had been warned what to expect when they entered the small hospital room, both by the nurse at the desk, and what they could gather from John's frantic phone calls, but even so, Bobby froze in the doorway, completely overwhelmed for a second before he managed to pull himself together. He was no stranger to injuries, his experiences treating and receiving them over the years had hardened him considerably, but this was unsettling. Kids weren't supposed to get hurt like this, not even kids like Dean who'd cheerfully endured broken bones and concussions since he was little. Right there and then, Bobby could have ripped John Winchester limb from limb for leaving his kids behind and allowing this to happen. Then he sharply reminded himself that he was the one who had called John away from them.

'Uncle Bobby! Pastor Jim!'

Bobby hadn't noticed Sam at first, but the kid had jumped up at the sight of them and rushed over. As Pastor Jim hurriedly shut the door behind them so as not to give the game away, Bobby felt Sam's arms tighten round him. He felt a little surprised . Sam hadn't been one for such displays of affection now he was growing up, not even towards Dean or his Dad, and Bobby's honorary title of 'uncle' had been dropped a year or two ago. Things really must be bad.

'Well, Sammy, would you look at that. The cavalry has arrived.'

The voice from the bed was quiet and a little hoarse, but it was Dean alright, and Bobby found himself smiling slightly as he addressed the kid.

'You bet your ass it has.'

Sam was practically beaming from ear to ear, and his expression was so painfully hopeful that Bobby actually had to look away. Pretty much since the day he had met the Winchester family, he'd had his concerns about the way they were raised, but he'd never realised it more clearly than today.

'Stupid question, but how are the two of you?' Bobby asked, sitting down in the chair by Dean's bed.

'Fine.'

Both boys answered in unison, far too quickly for Bobby's liking, and both in a thoroughly unconvincing tone. He knew then that they were never going to get straight answers from either of them, not while they were in the room together. Neither kid, it seemed, was willing to admit any kind of weakness or failing for fear of worrying his brother.

_God, John, what have you done to these kids?_

They hadn't discussed it, but as Bobby's eyes met Jim's, he knew they were thinking the same thing.

Pastor Jim cleared his throat loudly. 'Well, I am starved,' he said cheerfully. 'What do you say you and I head down to the cafeteria and grab a bite to eat, Sam? Have you eaten yet?'

Sam frowned slightly. 'Not since lunch.'

'That settles it then. We'll go get some dinner and let Dean get his rest, ok?'

Sam remained where he was, standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes darting between Dean and Pastor Jim.

'It's ok, Sammy,' Dean said gently. 'You go on and I'll be right here when you get back.'

Sam still seemed a little uncertain, but he nodded at Dean's words and allowed Jim to lead him out of the room and out into the corridor beyond, Dean and Bobby watching them leave. Bobby knew that Jim's calm, level headed manner would be the best thing for Sam right now, whilst he himself was better suited to talk to Dean. He loved both boys, hell, they were the closest things to sons he was ever going to get, but he'd always had a bit of a soft spot for Dean. He'd never admit that of course, but he was determined to do whatever he could for the kid.

'Nice outfit,' Dean smirked, raising his eyebrows as Bobby fidgeted uncomfortably with the tight collar.

'Nice hospital gown,' Bobby shot back at once. He recognised Dean's failsafe method of using humour as a distraction, but he decided to go with it for now. 'Is there a back to that thing or have you been flashing the nurses?'

Dean's laugh turned into a heavy yawn and his eyes closed over, making Bobby remember what the nurse who'd shown them in had said about his pain meds.

'If you're tired, Dean, you can sleep and I'll take to you when you wake up?' Bobby offered, watching as Dean failed to stifle another yawn.

Dean shook his head as vigorously as he could, practically wrenching his eyes open and Bobby felt another stab of pity for him.

_Come on, kid, it's ok to admit that you're tired._

'I'm fine, Bobby, really,' Dean insisted, though his drooping eyelids and slow speech told a very different story.

'Well that's bull and we both know it.'

Even in his befuddled state, Dean flinched a little and for a second, Bobby reprimanded himself for his harsh words but-

'You're right.'

Dean's voice was quieter still and he carefully avoided the older man's gaze.

'That's ok,' Bobby said gently. 'Hell, most people in your condition would probably still be out cold. It's probably some kind of miracle that you're awake and talking.'

'Won't be in a minute,' Dean mumbled. 'Stupid meds...'

'Well you've got to let yourself recover,' Bobby pointed out reasonably. 'You have to get your rest, Dean.'

'I don't want to rest.' With what looked like a supreme effort, Dean forced his eyes open wide.

'Believe me, kid, I get it.'

'Sam needs me.'

'Sam needs you to get better,' Bobby corrected. 'And you can't get better if you don't let yourself rest. You don't want them to completely sedate you, do you?'

'No,' Dean muttered sullenly. 'I just...don't like how they make me feel.'

'It won't last long,' Bobby promised. 'Just a few more days and they'll start to wean you off them.'

'Should just stop taking them. Just refuse,' Dean mumbled, his words a little incoherent as tiredness enveloped him again.

'No you shouldn't,' Bobby said firmly. 'If it was Sam lying in that bed, you'd make damn sure that he took every pain medication that was going.'

Bobby felt a little bad using the 'Sam' card, but hey, if it worked...

'Different,' Dean insisted, blinking furiously in an attempt to keep his weary eyes from closing. 'Sam...Sam shouldn't hurt...' His words were punctuated with another heavy yawn.

'Neither should you,' Bobby said quietly. 'You're just a kid too, Dean. I think we all forget that sometimes.'

'I'm s-s-sixteen,' Dean yawned, his eyes finally closing all the way.

'Fine. You're middle aged, happy?'

Dean actually smiled a little as he finally allowed sleep to claim him and Bobby watched with some satisfaction as he relaxed and fell silent.

When he was sure that Dean was well and truly out for the count, which only took a minute or two, Bobby stood up and retrieved the clipboard which hung on the foot of the bed. Settling back into the chair, he began to read the doctor's notes and charts, determined to get a proper sense of Dean's condition. If the kid was to be believed, then there was actually nothing wrong with him at all and his plaster cast and leg brace were simply there for decoration.

Bobby swore under his breath as ominous phrases left up at him. _Unresponsive at scene. Major blood loss. Fractured skull. Suspected cerebral edema. Pressure on the brain. Shattered tibia. Broken ribs. Punctured lung. Unresponsive, lost pulse on operating table. _He hardly believed it could get any worse, but the more recent entries chilled him. _Six days in comatose state. Breathing difficulties upon waking. Note: patient is susceptible to panic attacks; restrained and ventilated following loss of pulse and agitation. High temperature and infection. _

Bobby leaned back in his chair, breathing out heavily as he put the clipboard aside. The kid really had been through the wars alright and he knew that there was absolutely no way he was letting Dean refuse the pain meds. He knew how disorientated and slow they could make you feel, hell, Bobby didn't much like the feeling himself, but there was no way Dean was going to solider through any unnecessary pain.

A knock on the door startled him and he hoped it was John. He was more than eager for a chat with the man right about now, but the man who entered the room wasn't John, but a bespectacled, graying man in a white coat Bobby took to be Dean's doctor.

'Dr Roberts?' Bobby asked, remembering the name from the clipboard.

The man nodded as he entered the room, looking expectantly at Bobby for an introduction.

'Pastor Singer, from Blue Earth, Minnesota,' he replied quickly, extending a hand for the doctor to shake. He decided it would be best to name the location of Jim's church, in case Dr Roberts thought to do some digging.

'I spoke to your colleague on the way in,' Dr Roberts commented, fixing the clipboard back onto the foot of the bed. 'He was with Sam, Dean's brother; good kid, that Sam.'

Bobby was about to wholeheartedly agree that Sam was a great kid, but he caught himself just in time, remembering that he wasn't supposed to know these boys.

'This one's been through the wars alright,' he said, looking down at Dean's sleeping form.

Dr Roberts nodded gravely as he checked Dean's vitals. 'Dean hasn't had it easy,' he said simply. 'Neither has Sam.'

'How much longer will Dean be in the hospital?' Bobby asked.

Dr Roberts sighed heavily, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. 'I had hoped that we could release Dean sometime this week, but recent developments had forced us to push it back a bit.'

'Recent developments?'

Dr Roberts frowned slightly. 'How familiar are you with this case, Pastor?'

'Not as familiar as I'd like to be,' Bobby answered truthfully.

'I assume you know the basics,' the doctor asked. 'You heard about this case from our hospital chaplain, isn't that right?'

Bobby quickly nodded in agreement. Jim had decided that this was their best story, and by some lucky coincidence, he did actually know of the Pastor charged to the hospital's care. 'I know there was a car crash, and there was trouble contacting the boys' father.'

Dr Roberts raised an eyebrow. 'Something like that,' he muttered darkly, then he sighed deeply. 'Both boys were brought in on Tuesday evening after being involved in a traffic accident.'

'How did the accident happen?' Bobby couldn't help but ask. He knew Dean was a careful driver, and he'd do nothing that could possibly endanger his little brother, or indeed his precious car, but he still had to ask.

'Drunk driver on the wrong side of the road was headed straight for them. From what Sam has said, Dean managed to swerve their car to the side, stopping a head-on collision, though he then took the majority of the impact when they were hit. From what I can discern, the boys were spun round, then took a further collision to the back of the car.'

Bobby shook his head, trying not to think of what he would do to that driver should he ever happen across him. 'I hope someone called an ambulance right away?' he asked weakly, unable to bear the thought of those kids trapped in a twisted wreck of a car for any length of time.

'A passenger in one of the other cars did,' Dr Roberts said quickly.

'Well that's something I suppose,' Bobby muttered. Small miracles.

'The paramedics got there as soon as they could. Both boys were unconscious at the scene, though Sam came round soon enough, before the ambulance had even left for the hospital. He said his father was away on business, then made something of an escape bid out of the ambulance, from what I've heard, when the paramedic attending to him wouldn't tell him where his brother was. Then, of course, when he saw the state his brother was in, he fainted.'

Well if that wouldn't break your damn heart, then Bobby didn't know what would. In his mind's eye, he could see the kid making a break for it, running away from those who were trying to help him, determined to find the brother he idolised.

He shook his head again, trying to dispel the image. 'I take it Dean was still unconscious?'

'Dean suffered quite a serious head trauma, and combined with the blood loss and his other injuries, he didn't come round until sometime after he arrived at the hospital. I wish, for the poor kid's sake he could have stayed out a bit longer, but he woke up, trying to get to his brother.'

Well Dean was never one to do things for his own sake, Bobby found himself thinking sadly. It figured that he'd even pull himself out of concussion and unconsciousness if he thought Sam might be in danger.

'You couldn't have given him something to put him out?'

Dr Roberts fixed him with a steely stare. 'Our hospital has a policy, Pastor, that forbids us from administering strong pain relief to minors without parental consent, which neither of the boys had. Sam was lucky enough that his injuries, just a sprained wrist and a few cuts, had been patched up before we'd realised the situation. Dean, however, wasn't quite so lucky.'

Bobby wanted to rage and shout at this damn doctor who, by the sounds of things, had left a badly injured Dean lying without giving him anything at all to help with the pain. He knew Dean didn't much like the feeling of painkillers but it had to be preferable to suffering through the aftermath of a car crash unaided. Then he wanted to tear John Winchester a new one for not signing the forms or whatever that would have given his permission in case of emergency. Then he wanted to tear _himself_ a new one for calling John away from the boys. The doc had said the accident had happened on Tuesday evening, the very day John had arrived at his place. Maybe if he'd been able to sort out the damn job himself then none of this would have happened...

'And you couldn't get hold of the father?' he asked. This much, at least, he knew. John's cell had been trampled on by a Black Dog less than an hour into the hunt.

Dr Roberts shook his head. 'We tried the number Sam gave us countless times throughout the night, but we never got further than his voicemail. I had wondered whether Sam had given us the wrong number on purpose, he seemed awfully insistent that his dad couldn't answer the phone, but then he tried himself and didn't get through either. He'd been settled into a bed for the night, but I saw him sneaking out to use the payphone.'

Again, Bobby pictured the kid sneaking out of bed, checking to see if the coast was clear before finding a payphone, dialling his father's number and coming up with nothing. He found himself wishing that Sam had tried calling his cell, but then realised that Sam probably didn't even know the number. It was always Dean who called if there was something wrong and that had always been good enough. They'd all been too naive and believed that Dean would always be on hand to take charge if things got bad. As if there wasn't already enough responsibility on those young shoulders.

'I understand that their father didn't get in contact...' Bobby trailed off, letting the doctor fill in the rest.

'No,' Dr Roberts said frankly. 'No, he didn't. Policy states that we can't operate on a minor without parental consent, so we were forced to hold back on the surgery that Dean needed. Eventually, it got to the point where the kid couldn't wait any longer. It was kind of a miracle that he lasted as long as he did.' The doctor broke off abruptly, frowning slightly. 'I've worked at this hospital for twenty five years,' he said quietly, 'and that night was one of the very worst of my whole career. Just seeing that poor boy lying there, in all kinds of pain, and knowing that there was nothing we could do. It was better when he let himself pass out; when he was awake he just kept crying out for his father and Sam.'

Between them, these Winchester boys seemed determined to shatter Bobby's heart into tiny pieces. He'd never seen Dean cry before, not even when he was the small six year old Bobby had first been introduced to a decade before, and the alien image deeply unsettled him.

'But you did eventually operate on him, right?'

'Eventually yes. Six hours after he was admitted, I had to take the decision. We had the paperwork all lined up and waiting to go just in case. When the father still hadn't phoned and Dean couldn't hold on any longer, he was brought into surgery, and Mr Winchester's parental rights over both children were revoked. They have been declared wards of the state, and we've been looking after them both here ever since. We do have a local foster family lined up who are willing to take Sam but he's been reluctant to meet them and leave Dean.'

That sure sounded like Sam alright and Bobby was glad that the kid had managed to fight his corner. Whatever was right for these boys, it definitely wasn't being separated from each other, that much was for sure.

'And is there any possibility for their father to get his parental rights back?'

Dr Roberts gave a short, hollow sort of laugh. 'There's an appeal of course, and I'm sure he'll put up a good fight, but there's a very strong case against him, and I think the boys would be better off in the care of somebody else, someone who would actually be there to look after them.'

'I'm sure he does love them,' Bobby said abruptly, surprising himself as a sudden amount of indignation of John's behalf suddenly flared.

'I'm sure he does,' Dr Roberts agreed, 'but that doesn't mean he can look after them properly. We wouldn't be in this situation if he could.'

Well that was the truth, and no mistake. John did have a fierce love for both of his boys, but Bobby had secretly wondered over the years if they might not be better off with a different kind of life. Sam was a smart kid, and Bobby could picture him studying real hard and going off to college. Hell, Dean could too if he was given the opportunity and allowed to stay at a school long enough to settle down and actually learn something. He imagined both boys making good friends, playing sports after school, doing their homework in the evening instead of making silver bullets, sleeping through the night with nothing more worrying than math tests and school dances to fill their minds. He wouldn't wish the life of a hunter on anyone, not even his worst enemy, but least of all on two innocent kids. Maybe Sam and Dean would be better off spending the rest of the childhoods with somebody else...Bobby needed to speak with Jim, and with John for that matter, about how to proceed and what would really be the best option for the boys.

He knew it would kill John if the boys were taken away from him forever, but it was better that than the boys get killed as a result of his parenting.

'I'm afraid I have to leave you,' Dr Roberts said, startling Bobby out of his thoughts, 'but I assume you'll be at the meeting later? We can discuss the rest of the details then. Your colleague said your church was interested in looking after the boys?'

_Well done, Jim._

'We definitely are,' Bobby said firmly, watching the doctor leave.

Bobby sat in silence for a few moments, watching the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest, glad that the kid had been asleep and hadn't been forced to listen to that particular conversation. As if in response to that thought, Dean shifted slightly under the covers, then opened his eyes a little, blinking blearily.

'Sam?' he yawned, his eyes already closing again.

Bobby actually had to smile a little at that. 'Sam's just down in the cafeteria with Pastor Jim, Dean, remember?'

'Bobby? That you?'

'Yeah, Dean, it's me.'

Bobby was sure Dean had drifted off again when he spoke, his voice more childish and plaintive that Bobby had ever heard it. 'You're gonna fix it, aren't you, Bobby?'

What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

'Sure I'll fix it,' he found himself replying, and he was rewarded with something like a smile on Dean's face which, of course, only served to make him feel guilty.

'Bobby?'

'Yeah, Dean?'

'You're gonna fix my car, right? Some son of a bitch totalled it.'

Bobby laughed, a genuine laugh if only for a moment.

'Course I'll fix your car, Dean. Now shut up and get some sleep, you idjit.'


	10. Chapter 10

'So how are you feeling, Sam?'

Sam looked up from the plate of food he'd been listlessly toying with for the best part of fifteen minutes. He'd been miles away, he barely even registered what kind of food he was supposed to be eating, but the pastor's kind words startled him out of his reverie.

'I'm fine, I guess.'

Pastor Jim sighed heavily, setting down his own knife and fork and looking Sam directly in the eye. 'Sam,' he said gently, 'how are you really feeling?'

'I'm fine, I told you. My wrist doesn't even hurt one bit and Dr Roberts says I can get the bandage off in a few days.'

Pastor Jim raised an eyebrow. 'Well I'm glad you're not in pain, but we both know that I'm not talking about your wrist.'

Sam pushed his plate away, he hadn't even been hungry in the first place but now his stomach was twisting uncomfortably.

'Sam?' the pastor prompted gently, and Sam found himself giving in. It was hard not to trust kindly Pastor Jim and besides, it would be nice to get some stuff off his chest.

'I'm just...just scared about what's going to happen, that's all. I don't know what's going to happen, and I think that's what's so scary. Dad might get us back, or he might not, or we could go to some foster family, and I could get separated from Dean...' Sam trailed off, horrified to feel the sting of tears in his eyes. Honestly, he'd cried more in the last few days than practically the last twelve years combined. He dragged his sleeve across his eyes, hoping the action was discreet.

Pastor Jim either didn't notice, or tactfully pretend not to, for which Sam was incredibly grateful. It was embarrassing enough to keep crying all over the place but it was ten times worse when people actually mentioned it.

'I know this has been very hard on you,' Pastor Jim said softly, 'and on Dean too, but your Dad's doing everything he can to get you kids back. And now that Bobby and I are here, we're going to help in any way we can. You know that, right?'

'Yeah, I know,' Sam sniffed. 'Do you think he stands a chance, Pastor Jim, honestly?'

The pastor sighed again and offered Sam a small, sympathetic smile. 'I hope he does,' he said at last, 'because I know that you boys mean the whole world to your dad.'

'But what if it happens again?' Sam burst out, not really sure where the words were coming from, but unable to stop them regardless. 'I mean, Dean nearly died, Pastor Jim, he really did for, like, a minute and then it happened again whenever Dad came to see him, and it was all because Dad didn't fill out some stupid forms. They didn't even let Dean have any pain relief and he was there for hours, all bloody and broken and all by himself, then Dad didn't even bother to check on us for nearly a week! The doctors kept phoning and phoning, and so did I, and I don't care if his stupid phone got broken because he should have tried harder and he should have been here! It doesn't sound like we mean the whole world to him, does it?'

Sam broke off, breathing heavily through his nose as though he'd just run a great race. He stared, almost defiantly, as Pastor Jim who looked slightly shocked at his sudden outburst.

'Don't you want to be with your dad again?' he asked after a moment or two.

'Course I do,' Sam shot back at once. 'Maybe. I don't know.' He started speaking again, still not sure where the words were coming from and who he was really directing them to. It might have been Jim, or it might have been Dad, or Dean, or maybe even himself. He just knew that he needed to say these words and someone, anyone, needed to hear them. 'Things were good, Pastor, really good, better than I can remember things being in a long time. I really like this school, I've made a couple of friends and my grades have been good. Even Dean admitted that he didn't think it was that bad and he was doing his homework and everything. I mean, Dean _never_ does his homework, not willingly anyway, but he was here. I didn't even care that Dad was going off on a hunt, I even wanted him to stay away for ages because it was better with just the two of us. The night it happened, Dean said that I had to do some homework and then he was going to take me to a football game because I'd never been to one and neither had he. Then we were just driving, and everything was fine, and I told Dean that he should try out for the football team because he was actually getting involved in school here. It felt like things were different here, good different I mean, like we were going to stay here longer this time, a few months maybe, or maybe even, you know, for good.'

Jim watched with a kind of silent fascination and surprise as the kid in front of him ineffectively wiped his streaming eyes with a napkin. He'd heard John say before that Sam could have a smart mouth on him when he wanted to, but this was something entirely different. This wasn't Sam trying to be cheeky, this was Sam trying to be honest, and his revelations had shocked Jim. He had assumed that both boys would be as anxious for their father to get them back as John himself was, and he wondered what Dean could be saying to Bobby. Sam, at least, was confused and worried, and no longer exhibiting that blind faith that John had come to expect from both his sons.

'Maybe you should give this foster family a try, Sam,' Jim suggested, sometime later, once he was sure that the kid had stopped crying. He could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth, it certainly wasn't what he had set out to do, but he wanted the best for these kids and he was coming to realise that maybe John wasn't that.

Sam seemed just as surprised, frowning as he stared back at Jim with those big, intense eyes. 'You really think I should?' he asked quietly. 'Did Dad tell you to say that? Does he really want rid of me or something?'

'No, of course not!' Jim replied quickly, cutting Sam off before he could get himself completely worked up. 'I'm just thinking about you here, Sam, and what's best for you.'

'That's what everyone keeps saying,' Sam muttered.

'Well then, aren't you lucky that everyone has your best interests at heart?'

Sam very much looked like he wanted to reply that no, he definitely wasn't lucky by any means, but to give the kid credit, he stayed quiet.

'So, why don't you give it a go?' Jim prompted. 'You don't have to stay with them, not if you don't want to, but just have a look around and see what you think.'

'No, I don't want to.'

'You won't know unless you try it.'

'I know I won't like it.'

Jim sighed, patting the kid's hand in what he hoped was a sympathetic gesture until Sam pulled back. 'I know you're scared, Sam,' he said softly, 'but what exactly are you afraid of here? Leaving your Dad? Or are you scared you might actually like living with this other family?'

Sam stared back at him in silence, his mouth working furiously but no words came out, and Jim knew he had hit the nail on the head.

That was how Sam came to find himself at an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar neighbourhood just a couple of miles from the hospital. Once he'd mentioned that maybe he sort of wanted to check out the foster family, things had been put in place right away and the visit had been arranged for the very next day, after school. Dr Roberts had beamed and the Child Services lady had been grinning ear to ear. Bobby and Pastor Jim shared an understanding look, he hadn't seen Dad since he made his decision, and Dean didn't say anything because Sam didn't tell him. He told Dean instead that he was going on a fieldtrip with school and would be getting back to the hospital a little later than usual. Dean had sleepily accepted the lie and Sam had left him, his stomach twisting itself into guilty knots. He wasn't sure how Dean would react if he told him, it had been hard enough coming to the conclusion himself and he still wasn't sure how he felt about it. Until he had made up his mind about the whole situation, he wouldn't tell Dean, and if he found that maybe he actually liked this foster family...well, he'd cross that bridge if he came to it.

They seemed normal enough, Mr and Mrs Fletcher, and an automatic whisper of 'Christo' under his breath hadn't uncovered anything untoward. Sam was shown into a pleasant, airy house and a big garden with a basketball hoop was pointed out to him. It wasn't until they backed off to give him a few moments to look around himself that Sam finally allowed himself to picture himself living here.

He imagined getting off the school bus at the corner of the street and coming into this nice, clean house. In his mind's eye, Sam could see himself settling down at the large kitchen table with his school books, able to study uninterrupted for hours on end, nobody interrupting him to tell him to get a move on with those silver bullets. He imagined eating dinner, proper home cooked meals instead of something microwaved, in this cosy little kitchen, talking about the day's events, and not the details of a grisly, supernatural murder two states over. As he tiptoed up the narrow staircase, he imagined going up to bed, feeling warm and safe and contented into the small bedroom the couple had indicated would be his if he came to live here. They'd apologised for its small size, but Sam had never had a bedroom of his own before and he didn't care a bit for how small it was.

The bed, with its brightly colored duvet cover looked warm and inviting; the kind of bed where you wouldn't wake up crying in the middle of the night after having nightmares. There was a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, which Sam knew he would never able to fill with the handful of clothes he owned. Best of all, there were bookshelves, already filled by some previous occupant of the room perhaps. Sam walked over to them at once, lightly running his finger along the spines, whispering the titles under his breath. Some of his very favourites were there, and he could just picture selecting one and curling up in bed with it, just reading and reading until he fell asleep. He could display his little spelling bee trophy in pride of place on the bedside cabinet rather than at the bottom of a duffle bag , wrapped up in an old shirt.

Sam sat down carefully on the edge of the neatly made bed, thinking hard. Yes, he could very much picture himself living here, and living comfortably at that. Mr and Mrs Fletcher seemed genuinely nice people, and he'd be able to stay at school and keep in touch with his friends. He could play sports if he wanted, go to soccer team practice on weekend mornings, invite his friends back to play.

It seemed like the perfect life, and one so perfect that Sam had never been able to picture himself living before. So why didn't it make him feel more excited? Why didn't he want to live here, and make this his life?

The answer was simple, and really, Sam had known it all along. If he came to live with these people, then he'd be leaving Dean behind. With his bad leg, and weakened condition, Dean would never be able to manage those narrow, spindly stairs, at least not for a couple of weeks. And besides, the Fletchers already had an older son, and if Sam occupied the small bedroom, then there simply wouldn't be any room for Dean. Could Sam do that; knowingly and willingly walk away from the big brother who'd done nothing but look after and protect him all his life and take on a whole new life, with a brand new big brother and brand new parents? He tried to picture Dean being left behind but it was a hard image to conjure up since the idea of Dean existing without Sam or Dad to look after seemed impossible.

He couldn't do it, he just couldn't, it wasn't fair. He imagined how he would feel if Dean just decided he'd had enough of being a Winchester and left him behind to go be part of someone else's family. Abandonment wouldn't come into it. But at the same time, Sam knew that Dean only wanted the best for him, and if this family was the best thing, then surely Dean would be happy for him to go? Except, Dean wouldn't. Oh he'd smile and ruffle Sam's hair and tell him that everything was going to be ok, but Sam knew, deep down, that nothing would be ok ever again, not for his big brother. Nobody else seemed to get Dean; other people saw him as a handful, a cheeky, cocky kid and they never were quite able to see beyond the tough shell Dean had built for himself. He'd be written off as a bad kid, not the caring, gentle older brother Sam knew and loved, and Sam could see him floundering and failing if that side of him went unnoticed. Or maybe he'd find some other lost little kid to look after? Sam knew he was being incredibly selfish, but he didn't like that idea at all.

He couldn't imagine Dean settling into a normal, domestic setting by himself. He knew Dean wouldn't allow himself to settle down, to enjoy himself, to regain something of the domesticity they'd had before the accident. So could Sam leave him behind, full of that knowledge?

No. No he couldn't.

He took one last sweeping look around the cosy little bedroom and stood up, smoothing out the slight creases he'd made in the bedclothes so it looked like he'd never been there at all. He didn't look back as he crossed the polished wooden floor and shut the door tight behind him.

He didn't imagine that anyone would be very happy with him, the doctor and Child Services lady had been so happy when he'd agreed to come and look round the house, and even Bobby and Pastor Jim had encouraged him. But Dean would be happy, not that Sam ever planned on telling him, and Dad would be happy too.

Dad.

Sam was used to Dad being away, often for days at a time, and he'd sort of gotten used to the fact. It had bothered him a lot when he was little, and nobody told him anything then it had gotten worse when he'd finally learned what Dad was actually out there doing. Now, since it had happened more frequently as he and Dean got older, he'd just had to accept it as part of their everyday life. Dad was out, God only knew where, hunting God only knew what, but he'd be back soon and that was all that mattered. Now, however, Dad was back and they weren't allowed to see him, and only now did Sam realise just how much he had missed his father. Sam was often resentful at his father and he was still incredibly angry about how this whole situation had panned out but he was still _Dad._ Cringing, Sam remembered wishing that Dad could stay gone for weeks and weeks, back before this had all started. _Be careful what you wish for_ had never seemed a more appropriate phrase and now, more than anything, he wished everything could go back to normal. He didn't mind living in one motel after another, starting a new school every couple of weeks, not anymore, not if he got to be with Dad and Dean again and things could go back to normal. Well, as normal as was possible for their family.

That would have to be his mission from now on. No more brooding, or sitting around wondering or burying himself in his textbooks so he didn't have to think about anything else. Dad was putting up a hell of a fight to get them back, from what Sam had heard, and now Sam was going to back him up for all he was worth. He knew Dean ought to be concentrating all his efforts on his recovery, but that wasn't his big brother's style at all. Between the three of them, and with help from Bobby and Pastor Jim too of course, they had to make some kind of impression on Child Services, right? If they could all be united towards a common outcome, rather than all focused on their own agendas, then maybe Child Services would see that this was the right decision. Sam hoped that would be the case.

Lost as he was in contemplative thought, Sam hardly noticed that he'd reached the bottom of the stairs and that three pairs of eyes were fixed upon him, eagerly awaiting his reaction or response.

'How did you like your bedroom, Sport?' asked Mr Fletcher kindly.

'It's nice,' Sam said politely, careful not to sound enthusiastic.

'Sam,' Maria, the Child Services lady came over and crouched down so they could speak face to face. 'Mr and Mrs Fletcher have very kindly said that you can move in whenever you want, so it's all up to you. If you want, we can go and get all your stuff and you could stay the night, or we could wait until morning. It's your choice, Sam.'

Yes, it was Sam's choice but he wasn't taking either of her options.

'Could you take me back to the hospital please?' Sam asked.

Maria shared a smile with Mr and Mrs Fletcher, obviously misunderstanding. 'Sure thing, Sam. You want to go pick up your stuff and tell Dean you'll see him later?'

'No, I don't need to pick up anything.'

Maria nodded understandingly, though Sam knew she still hadn't grasped what he was trying to say. 'You want to wait until tomorrow then? That's a good idea, we can all start fresh in the morning.'

Sam sighed. She really wasn't getting it. He didn't particularly want to explain how he had absolutely no intentions of living with Mr and Mrs Fletcher right in front of them, but it was definitely looking that way.

'I just want to go back to the hospital,' he said quietly.

She frowned slightly, glancing sideways at Mr and Mrs Fletcher who were looking on in concern. 'Do you need some more time to think it over?'

Sam shook his head, a bit more vigorously than he intended, but he finally seemed to have made his point clear.

Maria stood up rather abruptly, immediately crossing to the Fletchers.

'I'm very sorry about this,' she said quickly. 'Sam's had a long day, I'll take him back on and give him time to sleep on it, then we'll be in touch tomorrow.'

Sam wasn't sure if she was deliberately misunderstanding him, but he had to make himself clear anyway.

'I'm really sorry,' he apologised, and he meant what he said. He was genuinely sorry to be leaving this cosy little home behind but he knew he was making the right decision. 'I just don't think I can live here. I have to go back with my Dad and my brother.'

To his surprise, Mr and Mrs Fletcher actually looked remarkably understanding. 'That's a shame,' Sam's potential foster father smiled sadly. 'You seem like a real nice kid and I think you could have been very happy with us. Our son was really looking forward to meeting you.'

'I might have been,' Sam agreed. 'I just...I just can't leave my family. I think we should go now,' he added quietly to Maria, who nodded stiffly.

'It was nice to meet you anyway,' Mrs Fletcher sighed

'Nice to meet you too.'

Sam nodded politely at them as he turned to leave, not really sure what the correct protocol was in situations like these. Just before he got to the door, however, Mrs Fletcher spoke again.

'You know, Sam, I had baked a pie and some cookies in case you were staying. You can take them with you if you like.'

'Can I?' Sam asked, instantly perking up. 'My brother loves pie.'

When Sam sidled into Dean's hospital room a little while later after a virtually silent car journey with Maria, he deposited the little bundle Mrs Fletcher had packaged up for him on the bedside table.

'What's that?' Dean asked suspiciously. He was sitting up again and actually had some color in his pale face for the first time in ages.

'It's a surprise,' Sam grinned. 'Open it and see.'

Frowning slightly, Dean unwrapped the bundle with his good hand and the grin that spread across his face when he saw what was inside made Sam actually laugh out loud.

'Oh man,' Dean said, almost reverentially.

'Thought you might like it,' Sam smiled.

'Dude, I have been wasting away on the crap they call food in this place. This is just what I needed after stupid physiotherapy today, that jackass doctor is like a slave driver, man, you wouldn't believe it.' He broke off a piece of pie and popped it into his mouth, carefully navigating round the trailing oxygen cannula, then leaned back, closing his eyes as he chewed loudly. 'That's some good pie. You didn't get it from the hospital cafeteria, did you? All they've been serving me is friggin' oatmeal and soup.'

'No, I got it from,' Sam broke off. He had almost been about to say exactly where he had got the pie from, but he caught himself on just in time. 'You know, my fieldtrip,' he finished lamely.

'They sell pie at the science museum?' Dean asked, raising an eyebrow as he broke off another piece.

'Oh yeah,' Sam answered quickly.

If Dean noticed anything strange, he didn't say anything and Sam was grateful for that. After a moment or two, he swallowed loudly and turned to look at Sam.

'You're ok, Sammy, aren't you?'

Sam didn't answer right away, a little surprised at the question that had come seemingly from out of the blue, but when the words came to him, he realised they were true. 'Yeah, Dean, yeah I think I am. Are you?'

Dean nodded. 'Dude, I'm fine,' he said, and Sam knew that he was speaking the truth too. Both them had a long way to go, he knew that perfectly well, but maybe, just maybe, everything _was_ going to be ok. 'I got to see Dad earlier,' Dean added.

'You did? What did he say?'

'Well I only got to see him for like a minute before Dr Asshat made me go do those crappy physical exercises, but he said that his appeal is tomorrow morning.'

'So tomorrow is when they'll decide if we get to stay with Dad?' Sam asked, some of that anxious, twisting feeling creeping back into his stomach again.

'Looks like it,' Dean said casually, though Sam knew his brother had to be feeling quite as nervous as he was.

'Do we get to go?' Sam asked, thinking that would be an ideal time and place to put his new mission into action.

'We're probably not supposed to, but you can bet your scrawny ass that we're getting ourselves in there. We're going to show those jerks that they made a huge mistake messing with the Winchesters, right?'

'Right,' Sam agreed, settling back into the now thoroughly familiar chair by the bed and accepting the large slice of pie that Dean pushed towards him.


End file.
